The Squib
by Leliha
Summary: The war is over, Voldemort destroyed. Can Snape overcome Azkaban and the rest of his torturous past with the help of a woman who says she loves him? SSOC
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Azkaban**

Alexandra Moody shivered and drew her cloak closer around her body, drawing the hood up as a protection against the rain. Gusts of wind put her in danger of losing her balance as she skirted the walls of Azkaban on her way to the main entrance. She still felt a bit queasy in the stomach from the journey. Just her bad luck that she had to come here on a day like this.

Not that she had wanted to come here at all, she certainly had not volunteered for writing this article, but as her colleagues had not wanted to do it either, it had been obvious whose task it would become. Utter nonsense, an article about famous convicted Death Eaters and their lives in Azkaban five years after their trials. How would these people react to her questions? Certainly not with much sympathy and understanding, but as the dementors were gone they should at least have remained sane.

Alexandra sighed and waited for her companion, a very fat Auror, to finish the formalities at the gate. Then she had to sign her name in the register and they were on their way into the fortress.

It was quiet inside, the sound of the wind and the sea did not penetrate the massive walls.

Their footsteps sounded loud on the stone flags of the corridors. From somewhere deep inside the building shouting could be heard. They passed wooden doors – some open, some closed - with people working inside and names next to them – offices. Alexandra wondered where the prisoners' cells were. Somewhere underground?

The Auror stopped at the door at the end of the corridor and held it open for her.

The small visitors' room was bare except for a simple wooden table and three chairs. Two chairs were on one side of the table and looked uncomfortable, but ordinary. The other one was very solid with chains attached to its armrests. Alexandra shivered again. The chair for the prisoners.

She removed her cloak and draped it over one of the visitors'chairs to dry, then she took her notebook and a pencil from her briefcase. She had never got used to quills. Scanning the list the prison management had provided (Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape) she decided to interview the Death Eaters in this alphabetical order, as she couldn't think of a better one. Ready to face the first prisoner, she nodded to the Auror.

30 minutes later she had developed a splitting headache and a strong urge to vomit.

Bellatrix Lestrange definitely had become insane despite the absence of dementors, but she had been in Azkaban before, perhaps that was the reason for her current state. Fat and filthy, her long, greying hair unkempt, madness gleaming in her eyes, she had either babbled in silly baby-talk about 'ickle Harry' or had regaled Alexandra with juicy details of her sex life during the days of Voldemort. Disgusting.

Lucius Malfoy appeared sane and composed. He was also well-groomed and well-fed, with sleek hair, now more white than blonde and elegant grey velvet robes. He entered the room with the air of owning the place. He winced a little when the chains fastened themselves around his arms, but nothing could wipe this arrogant expression of superiority from his face. He answered her questions condescendingly, making it clear that he considered himself wrongly imprisoned and the ministry a place ruled by imbeciles and left no doubt that he believed times were about to change and that the Malfoys would experience a rise to wealth and power again. Disgusting.

And now for the third Death Eater. The Auror who had been watching the interviews from the next room through a large glass partition came in and asked if she needed assistance with Snape.

"He's got a reputation for violence, he's nasty and bad-tempered."

Alexandra shrugged. Anything would be more agreeable than Lestrange and Malfoy.

"I don't think so. What can he do, he'll be chained to the chair?"

The Auror nodded and gladly left for his old place in the next room.

Two guards appeared with Snape. Alexandra's eyes widened in surprise about the difference between Malfoy and this man. Snape was wearing a tattered, dirty and damp grey prison uniform, work boots and leg-irons. His head was shaved, his face with the large prominent nose streaked with dirt, an ugly looking scar ran across his left cheek; there were also scars and an angry red welt on his neck. He smelled of rain and unwashed humanity and looked tired, glad to be able to sit down, he didn't show any reactions when the chains bound him to the chair.

His hands were calloused and red, the nails broken and dirty.

The guards left, Alexandra and Snape looked at each other.

"Well?" it was he who finally broke the silence. Alexandra brought herself out of her reveries and remembered why she was here.

"I'm Alexandra Moody, I work for the Daily Prophet and I'm here to do some research for an article about convicted Death Eaters…"

"Moody?" he interrupted her, "are you a relation of Alistair Moody?"

Oh God, first prize for the most original question of the century, she thought.

"Yes, he's my uncle," she said aloud.

He looked at her thoughtfully.

"Why do I not know you? Which school were you at? Beauxbatons?"

"No, St.Catherine's school for girls in Oxford. I'm a squib."

She felt her cheeks become hot. Now, why had she told him this? She stared at him defiantly and was surprised to see a little smile of sympathy in those hard black eyes.

"A squib," he said softly, "oh my."

When she didn't react he went on.

"It must be bad to be a squib in the wizarding world, but to be one with the name of Moody must be absolutely dreadful."

There was no sarcasm in his voice, he really meant it. She looked at him incredulously. Death Eaters had been obsessed with being pure-bloods and all that kind of rubbish, he certainly couldn't have understanding for a squib.

"What do you care?" she asked.

"I know what it means to be an outsider," he said quietly.

Alexandra swallowed.

"Mr Snape, I'd like to ask you some questions. Why are you, I mean, Mr Malfoy and you…" He laughed bitterly.

"You mean, why do I look so much more like a prisoner than he does? Ms Moody, it's all a question of money and influence. He's got both and I've got neither. So all I get is standard issue and I have to work for my keep."

"Work?"

"Yes, Azkaban has been partly destroyed during the war, and now the prisoners must re-build it. Paradox, isn't it? I'm part of a chain-gang."

He moved his feet and the chains clinked.

"We work twelve-hour shifts and I must admit that I really appreciate the hour of rest in a warm and dry room this little talk provides me with. I thank you."

"But - that's not fair!" she exclaimed.

"Of course not, Ms Moody, but that's the way it is. Since when has life been fair?"

"What do you miss most, Mr Snape?" she took refuge in one of her prepared questions.

He sneered. "This is a very stupid question, Ms Moody. What do you think a prisoner misses most? Freedom, Ms Moody, freedom."

His voice was bitter again, but after a moment's hesitation he added, barely audible and more to himself, "and books."

"Do you regret your crimes?" The next question on her list.

He smirked. "Now, what does a good Death Eater answer to that?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "No, I regret nothing. The Dark Lord will rise again!"

His hands clenched on the armrests. He sighed wearily.

"Ms Moody, I regret each and everyone of my mistakes and my crimes, I deserve punishment. And I don't want to answer any more of your silly questions. Write whatever you like, I don't give a damn, I'm locked in here for the rest of my miserable life."

He closed his eyes. Alexandra swallowed. He was right. The questions were silly, the article was silly, the Daily Prophet was silly, her whole life was purposeless and silly. Suddenly she felt like crying.

"Tell me," he said and looked at her through narrowed eyes, "why do you work for the _Prophet_? Wouldn't you be happier in the Muggle world?"

Alexandra somehow felt that the interview didn't proceed the way it should, but couldn't help answering him.

"Jobs for journalists are scarce. I tried to find a job with a Muggle newspaper, but didn't succeed." She sighed. "And my family has always wanted me to come back. Perhaps they think if I'm surrounded by magic some day I will catch some. They made me marry a wizard – well, I admit I thought I was in love – and when the marriage didn't work because I could not have children, they helped me to get this job with the _Daily Prophet_."

"You don't like it?"

"No, it's not a good newspaper and they don't really accept me there. They talk behind my back, because I can't work with magic and they don't use Muggle technology, computers and so on. I always get the tasks nobody else wants."

"Like interviewing Death Eaters?" He grinned.

She grimaced. Why was she confessing these details to him? He was a stranger, he was a convict, for heaven's sake. He shifted his position a little, the chains preventing further movement. His eyes were still fixed on hers, his expression unreadable. She felt compelled to go on.

"But I don't see a way out. What possibilities are there for someone like me at my age? Sometimes I just feel so useless."

Now, why had she said this? Why had she admitted this to him of all people? She blushed and would have liked to sink through the floor. She averted her eyes and looked down at her hands in her lap. The silence stretched between them.

He cleared his throat. "There's always a solution. Don't do anything silly", he said hoarsely.

She looked at him in surprise.

He shrugged depreciatingly. "Professor Snape's advice of the week."

Then he pointed his chin at the glass partition. "Your Auror is getting restless. Shall we call this interview finished?"

She rose and went over to his chair.

"Mr Snape, why did you do this?"

"What?"

"Listen to my problems."

He answered with an ironical curling of his lips. "I didn't have much choice, did I? Besides, I'd do anything for some extra time in a warm and dry room. I usually don't have visitors." "No visitors in five years?"

"Nope."

She looked at him and tried to imagine what his life must have been like before Azkaban and what it must be like now. Their eyes locked and she felt that there was something more, something he wouldn't reveal.

"Tell your Auror I want to leave."

His tone was harsh and commanding. She obediently gestured to the Auror. The guards re-appeared, made the chains remove themselves and he got up stiffly.

"Move, Snape," one of them said and punched him in the back, making him stumble in his shackles. Alexandra clenched her teeth. It wasn't fair.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these wonderful characters._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Imprisonment**

Severus Snape was staring into the darkness of his cell. He was lying on his side, rolled into a ball, trying to get warm. He never seemed to get warm during the winter months. The clothes were too thin, the blanket threadbare and the temperature in the underground cell was near freezing point. His thoughts wandered back to the visitors' room. Warmth and the woman. Of medium height, with short brown hair, blue eyes and very white skin – nothing out of the ordinary, but to him, who for the last five years had only been surrounded by the miserable figures of his fellow prisoners or the grim faces of the guards, she had seemed beautiful. He still could not get over his inexplicable reaction towards her: When he had learned about the interview, he had intended to be cold and sarcastic, but then something about her, an aura of loneliness and bad luck, had evoked his sympathy. He could not understand it. All his adult life he had succeeded in avoiding feelings like sympathy and love, had tried to ban emotion altogether. In the five years at Azkaban this ability of detachment, of withdrawing into himself had kept him sane. Imprisonment was like death, a death that had evaded him in his treacherous position as a spy and in the mortal peril of the battlefield, a death that he had long wished for, but had been too much of a coward to bring about himself. Here in Azkaban, locked away behind impenetrable walls, he was finally free from the demands of mighty masters, free from responsibilities and obligations towards a society that had never really accepted him.

He had learned to obey the rules and the commands of the guards, a learning process that had started on his very first day, when after one hour's work with a shovel he had presented his bleeding hands and had asked to be transferred to some work where he ould be more useful. This had earned him a stay in a punishment cell and some rags to wrap around his hands for protection. Now, five years later, these hands, once the hands of a scholar, had become hard, dirt-ingrained, rough and calloused, as calloused as he wanted his soul to be.

He had learned to accept the monotonous routine of the days: The harsh, cruel sound of the alarm, waking the prisoners at dawn, the fastening of the shackles, leaving the cell for breakfast – always thin porridge – followed by long hours of work, hard, back-breaking, mind-numbing manual work, then ten minutes for a quick wash before dinner – always stale bread and some kind of watery stew made with unidentifiable ingredients followed by a small piece of fruit - and finally the loneliness of the small cell and sleep. Sometimes he tried to remember passages from books or potion recipes to keep his mind active, but most of the time he was overwhelmed with exhaustion and pain. He was alone, a tiny, isolated drop of water in the sea of inmates, swept away by the tide and the waves caused by prison rules and the guards' vim.

There was no friendship among the prisoners; the guards made sure that contact and conversation were reduced to the absolute minimum. Death Eaters belonged to the lowest rank in prison hierarchy, they were treated cruelly by the guards and by the other prisoners alike. He usually tried to avoid the secret cruelties or to ignore them. There were, however, occasions when his self-control failed him. When prisoners or guards tormented the weak and helpless, his former students who had joined Voldemort in the last months before the final battle and had been sentenced like all the other hardened Death Eater veterans. They suffered most and when they were the victims of sadistic games Snape's indifference weakened, he could not help but intervene, and as a consequence had to spend long hours in the punishment cells for insubordination, always berating himself for his foolishness and at the same time knowing perfectly well that he would do it again.

So a good day was a day without punishment and injuries. He had learned to live from day to day, not giving way to hope and illusions. So far it had worked. Until today.

Shivering he turned over and groaned. His back hurt, a painful reminder of what could happen if you indulged in emotion: After the interview he had been so pre-occupied with his visitor that his foot had slipped on the wet ground, he had fallen, pulling with him two other prisoners and upsetting a pile of stones waiting to be build into a wall. The guards had helped him to his feet with their cudgels…

Forget her! he told his mind. You won't see her again. He drew the threadbare blanket closer around his shoulders and tried to go to sleep.

Back in London Alexandra wrote her article, but she did it only half-heartedly. Her thoughts were elsewhere, and when she had finished, she ordered from the archives all the back copies of the Daily Prophet containing articles about Severus Snape and his trial. Five years ago she had still been married. Her husband had wanted her to stay at home and keep away from politics and public affairs. Four years after Voldemort's destruction, the wizarding world had been trying to go back to normal. So although the media had covered the capture and trial of the last Death Eaters extensively, public interest had not been very high in general and as Alexandra then had been busy with plenty of problems of her own, she had not paid attention to the news very much.

Now she read through the papers eagerly, scanning each page carefully so as not to miss anything.

When she had finished she sat back and ran her hands through her cropped hair, making it stand on end, a bad habit she always indulged in while thinking. This was strange: He had remained silent throughout the trial, had absolutely refused to speak, to give evidence.

Pictures showed him in the courtroom, chains binding him to the chair, his face without expression, pale, gaunt, hard like stone, scarred from the injuries he had received during his capture after two years on the run.

Death Eaters brought in from Azkaban had confirmed that he had been one of them, high in rank even, a close confidant of the Dark Lord – he had shown no reaction.

Harry Potter had told his story about Dumbledore's murder – no reaction, no comment when the head of the wizengamot had asked him to give his side of the events.

Arthur Weasley's evidence about the bits of information on Death Eater activities that had found their way to the Order after Dumbledore's death; nobody knew where they had come from, but they had always proved reliable and very useful – no comment.

Remus Lupin's report about the last battle, where Snape had been seen casting curses at Death Eaters – no reaction.

Ronald Weasley's description of the decisive moment in the final confrontation between Harry Potter and Voldemort, when the Dark Wizard had been so distracted by a strange spell hitting him that his deadly curse meant for Harry had gone astray, thus enabling the boy to overwhelm his opponent and kill him. There were rumours that the potions master had been the source of that spell – no comment.

Nymphadora Tonks remembered Snape carrying an unconscious Gimnny Weasley from the battlefield – no reaction.

When the jury finally agreed on life imprisonment in Azkaban instead of a death sentence, his face had remained impassive and he had declined the offer to speak. They had taken him to Azkaban and after some last speculations on his behaviour in the following issues of the Daily Prophet he had been forgotten.

Why? Alexandra stretched her arms vigorously in an attempt to ease the pain in her neck muscles. Why had he not spoken, explained his reasons for killing Dumbledore and helping against Voldemort at the same time? It seemed as if he had decided that enough was enough, as if he had been tired of his life, as if he had wanted to vanish behind the thick walls of Azkaban.

He was an enigma Alexandra could not stop wondering about. What kind of person had he been? She decided that she wanted to know more about him. She would write to former pupils and colleagues, gather information. She would suggest a background story to the one she had just written to her editor-in-chief, biographies of famous Death Eaters, something along that line, so that she would be able to use her time at work for her research.

Two months later she had answers that formed into a portrait – a very unfavourable one.

Strict, unfair, vindictive, arrogant, sarcastic, cruel, ugly, antisocial. She sighed. No wonder his misdeeds had seemed to be so much more in character than his alleged bravery during the battle. There seemed to be no one, absolutely no one with friendly feelings towards this man.

Now she understood why he had not had visitors in all these years. She wondered about his work. Potions. As a squib she only had a vague idea of what the subject implied. She decided to visit Hogwarts. There had been few replies from teachers, perhaps she could gather some more information personally.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing the wonderful characters._


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to all the wonderful people who sent reviews. Any kind of feedback is very much appreciated. So here's the next chapter…_

Chapter three: Hogwarts 

"Severus Snape," Minerva McGonagall sighed, "Severus, oh yes. Have you seen him? How is he?"

Alexandra shrugged. What could she say to that? "He's in Azkaban."

"And he deserves it," the old witch whispered, her face hard and her eyes full of pain.

Alexandra was embarrassed by this unexpected display of emotions. For some long minutes neither of the two women said anything.

"My impression is that he is a hard man, a loner," Alexandra finally continued the conversation.

Again the old witch sighed deeply and nodded thoughtfully. "A loner, yes, he has always been one. I was already teaching here at this school when he arrived as a student. From his first day at Hogwarts he had been unpopular. He was not handsome and it was obvious that he came from a poor background. His being extremely intelligent and hard-working only made the others think of him as a swot. They bullied him and he swallowed most of it, but sometimes he lashed out and it was always he that got punished, I'm afraid. He was the perfect victim. The teachers didn't make an effort to understand his side of the affair, myself included, I must admit. Today I can't help wondering what would have happened if we had shown a bit of understanding instead of just giving detention."

She sighed again and stared into the fire, lost in memories.

"You mean he wouldn't have joined the Death Eaters?"

Professor McGonagall shrugged. "Well, becoming one of them certainly was an act of defiance on his side, a desperate attempt to gain the upper hand. His father was a Muggle, I don't think he believed in that pureblood craze Voldemort preached and he didn't have any natural inclination towards violence and torture. There was just this passionate interest in the Dark Arts."

"He returned as a teacher," Alexandra prompted.

"He returned as a spy – for - Voldemort, as we now know," Professor McGonagall corrected her. "Although Albus believed him to be loyal to the Order", she added bitterly.

"Anyway, teaching was just his cover. And I don't think he liked it. He had always been brilliant, so he didn't have much understanding for mediocre students or for those who didn't work hard enough to meet his standards, he had absolutely no patience for those who had difficulties with potion-making, and he didn't make an effort to hide his contempt."

"I've received letters from students telling me about this. He was very strict and sarcastic."

"Well, he had to be strict. Potions is a dangerous subject, much damage can be done if students don't pay attention. In his classes very few accidents happened."

"Didn't parents complain about the way he treated pupils?"

Professor McGonagall laughed. "Oh yes, they did. All the time. But Albus Dumbledore always protected him."

"As a colleague, what was he like?"

She hesitated. "Well, as I said - a loner. He didn't socialize, preferred to stay in his quarters, alone with his books and cauldrons. Many of the staff were afraid of his sharp tongue. He didn't have any scruples about reducing other teachers to tears with his sarcasm if he thought their work or behaviour inadequate. When we learned about his past as a Death Eater we all were suspicious, but Albus convinced us that he could be trusted completely. Obviously he was wrong."

Again there was this expression of pain on the older woman's face.

"How did you personally feel about him?" Alexandra asked cautiously.

The old witch winced uncomfortably and shook her head sadly.

"Me? Well, in a way I – I must admit that I liked him."

She swallowed hard and ran a hand over her eyes.

"He was very competent in his area of expertise, he was reliable, took his duties as head of house very seriously, one couldn't help admiring his wit and his intelligence."

She sighed again. "This final deed came as a shock."

"Do you hate him now?"

The headmistress shrugged and shook her head sadly.

"Hate him? Well, yes – no, not really. What I hate is my own blindness, my failure to see what was coming."

"Most people who sent answers seem to hate him," Alexandra said quietly.

The old witch snorted.

"Dear Ms Moody, hasn't it occurred to you that perhaps only those who bear a grudge sent you an answer? That the others didn't bother, didn't dare or just still don't know what to think of him?"

Alexandra blushed and felt very stupid.

"Yes, perhaps. But I'd really like to get some more reliable information about Severus Snape," she said.

Professor McGonagall got up and paced the room. Then she stopped in front of a large filing cabinet and turned towards her visitor.

"I could give you access to the copies of his files, both as a student and as a teacher, I suppose. The original documents are at the Ministry, but the copies are here. There's nothing in them that could not be made public."

Alexandra gratefully agreed. Ten minutes later she was alone in the office with two thick files and a cup of tea on the small table in front of her. Curiously she opened the topmost folder. A small cloud of dust greeted her and made her sneeze. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Couldn't they use their magic to prevent papers from becoming that dusty? After another sneeze she concentrated on the parchments. His student file. It started with his NEWTs results. Outstanding in all his subjects. Alexandra couldn't help making an incredulous noise. Amazing. Her own brothers and cousins had not received a single "outstanding" anywhere. She turned the pages. There were notes about misbehaviour towards other students resulting in detentions and letters to his parents.

His OWLs – again Outstanding everywhere. And more detentions for insulting and hexing other students. A note concerning an incident with something called the Whomping Willow – whatever that was. His schooldays obviously had not been pleasant. She turned to the file covering his years as a teacher. Topmost was a short note stating his life sentence and another one about his flight from Hogwarts after he had killed the headmaster. Then came dozens of letters from angry parents complaining about his treatment of their children. They all bore the words "answered – placated" and Dumbledore's signature. Alexandra scanned several of them. If the allegations were true Severus Snape had been a cruel and sadistic teacher indeed.

Next there was a list with no entries: In eighteen years he had not missed a day due to illness. Surprising considering the fact that he had not liked his job very much.

There were also some letters from the Ministry requesting the brewing of certain potions for official use. He must have been an expert.

The last parchment in the folder was his contract. Thoughtfully she studied his signature: A large, spidery handwriting.

Alexandra sighed. No revelations here. She had wasted an entire day without gaining any useful information. There was, however, one last option…

When Minerva McGonagall returned Alexandra asked her if there was anything left of Snape's personal belongings. The witch looked at her enquiringly.

"It's just, well, you can tell about a person's character if you know which books he reads and so on," Alexandra tried to explain.

Professor McGonagall raised a disapproving eyebrow and hesitated, but then she shrugged. "There's not much left. The Ministry took everything they thought was important. It's just his clothes and one large chest. You can have a look through it if you like."

She led the way down the stairs into the dungeons of Hogwarts, then stopped in front of the portrait of an extremely ugly wizard and waved her wand. The painting swung back and revealed a small windowless room full of discarded furniture. Another flick of the wand lit the candles in their holders on the walls. Draped over the back of a chair was a pile of black clothes. The witch pointed to a large chest in the corner.

"Everything is in there."

Alexandra went over to the chest and opened it. Again she was greeted by a cloud of dust. Coughing she peered into it. Textbooks and parchments, which on closer inspection turned out to be half-marked essays. She delved deeper into the pile. Photos of a woman – his mother?, his personal toiletries and a small mirror. She studied the mirror curiously. It looked out of place among the possessions of a man: Small, about the size of the palm of her hand with a beautifully ornamented guilt frame. Alexandra did not know what made her do it, but she cast a surreptitious glance at Professor McGonagall, who had picked up an old tome and seemed deeply immersed in it and quickly dropped the mirror into the pocket of her jacket. Then she straightened and declared herself ready to go.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing the wonderful characters._


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you for all the reviews, I enjoyed them very much and I hope you won't mind if I don't answer them all personally._

**Chapter Four: The Mirror**

It was already getting dark when Alexandra returned to her small flat in North London. The journey had been long and tedious – one of the disadvantages of being a squib was that you had to rely on Muggle transport, flooing or apparating was out of the question. Not that Alexandra had enjoyed the few times she had used the floo-network or had done side-along apparition with members of her family. This second-hand use of magic had always resulted in headaches and nausea.

She dumped her bag and her jacket on the table, kicked off her shoes and briefly considered what to do next. As she'd had nothing to eat since the biscuits that had accompanied the cup of tea in Professor McGongall's office she was ravenous, but she also felt stressed out and grimy from the journey. Food or shower? She decided in favour of the shower and soon the hot water and fragrant shower-gel made her relax and feel human again.

Wrapped into a towelling bathrobe she inspected her fridge. There was a container with fried rice, the leftovers of yesterday's Chinese take-away dinner. She put it in the microwave and while waiting poured herself a large glass of mineral water. When the rice was ready she took it over to her armchair and settled into it comfortably, her feet on a low stool in front of it. She ate quickly and with her stomach satisfied she felt the tiredness overcome her once again. She stifled a yawn, telling herself that it was time to call it a day and turn in. Her mind, however, was not ready for sleep, her thoughts were restless, revolving around the day's efforts, which, as she had to admit reluctantly, had been a complete waste of time, money and energy. No information to speak of, no further insight into the mystery that was Severus Snape. ..

Suddenly she remembered the mirror. It was still in the pocket of her jacket, somehow she had not dared take it out and examine it on the train. With a deep sigh she hoisted herself from the chair, took the glass and the container to the sink and on her way back retrieved her jacket from the table. She reached into the pocket. There it was. It was beautiful. The filigree gilt frame consisted of the highly ornamented figures of four birds with long tail feathers. She turned the mirror in her hands, admiring the intertwining graceful lines of the tails. Art deco – that was what this style was called. She had always liked it. The glass was dull with age and fingerprints. Alexandra breathed on it and polished it carefully with the hem of her bathrobe until it became shiny again.

Then she looked into it idly and studied her face. It appeared pale and drawn under the damp hair; without make-up her eyes were dull and tired, with dark rings beneath them. She definitely looked every minute of her age tonight…

Suddenly she gasped. The image had changed. The face in the mirror had become much older, had turned into the face of a very old white-haired wizard with a long beard, dazzling blue eyes and half-moon spectacles. A face everyone with some knowledge of the wizarding world was familiar with: Albus Dumbledore. Heavens, what was happening to her? Was her brain so tired that she had hallucinations? She shook her head, blinked and peered into the mirror again. The face was still there, and what was more, it bowed and smiled at her and then she heard a deep and warm voice in her head.

"Ms Moody, I presume?"

Alexandra gaped at the mirror open-mouthed and nodded weakly.

"How do you do?" the voice continued pleasantly, "Nice to meet you, I'm Albus Dumbledore."

"Yes, I - I know," Alexandra stuttered, trying to come to grips with the fact that she was just entering into a conversation with a mirror.

"I'm so glad that you found the mirror, it has been waiting for so long a time. I'm ever so glad that finally someone cares for Severus," the voice said and the old face twisted into a sad little smile. "He needs sympathy and help."

Now Alexandra became alert. Had she understood the old wizard correctly?

"You - what? But he killed you!"

The face nodded sadly. "Oh yes, that's right, I'm afraid he did, but only because I told him to."

"You told him to murder you?"

"Not only told him, but practically forced him," Albus Dumbledore said quietly.

"I'm afraid I don't understand…"

"Of course you don't, dear child, how could you? Shall I tell you the story? Do you want to hear it?"

Again Alexandra nodded, too stunned to find words.

"Now, let me see, where do I begin? You know about Voldemort, I suppose?"

"Certainly," Alexandra replied. What did he take her for?

"Do you know about the Order of the Phoenix as well?"

Order of the Phoenix? There had been statements about an 'Order' in the evidence given at the trial and she had heard rumours of a secret community of wizards whose aim it had been to destroy Voldemort, but she didn't know facts. So she shook her head.

"The Order of the Phoenix was founded to fight Voldemort and to end his power. Severus was our spy. He had become a Death Eater after school and when a teaching position became vacant, Voldemort sent him to Hogwarts to spy on us. But at that time Severus didn't believe in the purposes of the Death Eaters any more, regretted his youthful decision, realized that he had made a terrible mistake and came to me for advice. I recognized that this was an opportunity that would arrive just once in a lifetime. So I persuaded him to come over to our side as a double agent, to return to his Dark Lord and play his role as a spy for Voldemort while actually being our spy within the Death Eater ranks."

He paused and looked at Alexandra enquiringly.

"Can you follow, Miss Moody?"

"Yes, I think so", she answered slowly.

"Severus didn't like the idea at first, but I managed to convince him of the advantages: that by helping us he could atone for the crimes he had committed and that this option was preferable to a stay in Azkaban. So in the end he swore allegiance to the Order and his information proved very useful."

The old face paused with a sigh of reminiscence. Alexandra waited patiently.

"After Voldemort's resurrection, life became very difficult for Severus. He immediately offered to resume his role as a spy and return to Voldemort. I tried to dissuade him because I feared for his safety, but he was adamant, wouldn't take no for an answer, wanted to fulfil his obligations towards the Order, towards myself."

The old wizard stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"As I had anticipated, Voldemort's paranoia had increased tremendously, he was suspicious of his followers and particularly so of Severus who had been living with the enemy for 14 years. He questioned him very painfully, the other Death Eaters didn't accept him, because he had been comfortably at Hogwarts instead of languishing in Azkaban and the members of the Order had never really trusted him anyway because of his Dark Mark."

He shook his head sadly.

"Poor boy, he bore it all very bravely without complaining. Then in the summer before his last year as a teacher he was visited by Narcissa Malfoy and her sister. He learned that Narcissa's son, Draco, a Hogwarts student, had joined the Death Eaters and had been set a task by Voldemort, a task which his mother feared was dangerous for the boy and impossible to fulfil. Hoping to find out more about the nature of this task Severus agreed to take an Unbreakable Vow to help and protect Draco without knowing what that help would imply.

Are you still with me, Ms Moddy?"

Alexandra nodded thoughtfully. She had no idea what exactly an Unbreakable Vow was about, but it sounded quite impressive and dangerous. With a smile she signalled to Dumbledore that she was ready for him to continue.

"When Severus found out that Draco was working on a plan to kill me, he came to me to confess and warn me. I told him there was only one option: To stick to his vow and kill me if the situation arose. You see, I had received injuries when I destroyed one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, injuries that would eventually lead to a slow and painful death. So I was dying anyway, Severus would only hurry things up. It wasn't easy to make him concede. He became furious at the suggestion, he destroyed half of the ornaments in my office in his wrath, I had to cruelly remind him of the oath he had sworn to me and the Order before he finally agreed."

The image sighed.

"And even then – that fatal night when it came to the confrontation on the Astronomy Tower, I needed all of the strength that was left to me to make him pronounce the killing curse. I had been poisoned when we retrieved another Horcrux, he could see that my life was fading away rapidly, but he still hated me for it and he hated himself for giving in."

The old wizard closed his eyes for a moment and then polished his spectacles with a large spotted handkerchief before he continued.

"Poor boy. I had intended to make provisions for proving his innocence, but the crucial moment arrived sooner than I had anticipated. So he was convicted."

Alexandra stared at the mirror in horror.

"He's innocent!" she whispered. "Why didn't he tell so at the trial?"

"Who would have believed him?"

She put the mirror on the table and got up. Five years spent in Azkaban as an innocent man! Five years in that hell-hole, shackled and beaten. She paced the room. It was unbelievable. There had to be a way to get him out, to prove his innocence. She picked up the mirror again.

"I'd like to help him, what can I do?" she demanded.

Dumbledore's face lit up with a smile.

"So my hope has been fulfilled. It took so long to find a person willing to help him."

His face became grave again.

"First of all you must convince him of his innocence, you must persuade him to co-operate." "But," Alexandra could not quite follow, "he knows that he acted on your orders, he knows that he is innocent, doesn't he?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Severus is a difficult character. He certainly knows that I asked him to kill me, but he still feels guilty of all the crimes he committed in his early Death Eater days and had to commit as a spy. He thinks he deserves punishment, I'm afraid."

"That's stupid."

"That's Severus."

Alexandra bit her lower lip thoughtfully. Dumbledore had to be wrong, nobody would want to go to prison for a crime he had not committed.

"I must talk to him," she finally decided.

Although she dreaded going back to Azkaban there was no other way. The old wizard's eyes twinkled with joy and were buried in a frame of wrinkles when he smiled at her affectionately.

"I wish you luck, Ms Moody."

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these wonderful characters._


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the reviews, they made me write the following chapter really fast _:)

**Chapter Five: Denial**

It took a fortnight to get the permission for another visit to Azkaban. This time it was early summer and decidedly warmer than before, but the sight of the grey fortress sent shivers down Alexandra's spine nevertheless. Again she was led into the visitor's room and asked to wait. Some minutes later the guard entered with the prisoner. Alexandra watched him being chained to the chair and noticed that he looked ill. He had lost weight, his left eye was black and swollen.

"What do you want now? Another article?" he spat at her for a greeting. His voice was hoarse and he ended his words with a dry cough.

Alexandra put her elbows on the table and leaned closer to him.

"No, Mr Snape, no article this time. I just wanted to provide you with a bit of extra time in a warm and dry room."

She smiled at him and he answered the smile wryly.

"Did you give this to the authorities as a reason for your visit?" he asked ironically.

"No, I told them I wanted to write your biography."

He let out a short laugh. "And they believed it?"

"They did. After all you are still quite famous."

They looked at each other for a while without speaking. Then Alexandra mustered enough courage to bring up the real topic.

"I've spoken to Albus Dumbledore. You're innocent."

He shook his head.

"I'm not innocent, Ms Moody," he said wearily.

Then – as if he had just realized what she had said - his good eye narrowed.

"How did you speak to Dumbledore?" he demanded in an angry whisper, leaning forward as far as the chains would allow him.

Alexandra felt her cheeks become hot.

"I – I did some investigation on your case, I wanted to find out more about you, so I wrote to people who knew you and I visited Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall was kind enough to provide me with some information and to show me your things, those the ministry has left behind. I found a mirror…"

"And pinched it! I would have thought you to have some more respect for other people's possessions, Ms Moody."

He shook his head in mock accusation. Another coughing fit shook him.

"I think it wanted to be taken", Alexandra remarked quietly. "Albus Dumbledore wanted to contact a person who was interested in your fate and that happened to be me. I have no idea how the mirror works and why it was among your belongings…"

"We used it as a means of quick and secret contact. The Aurors must have overlooked it, otherwise they would have confiscated it as well."

He breathed hard and his features twisted into an angry scowl.

"The old fool simply can't stop meddling. Even from the fucking grave he thinks he must direct people's lives. Destroy that blasted mirror, Ms Moody, smash it to smithereens!"

His face was drawn as if in unbearable pain. Alexandra just stared at him, not knowing what to say. Then she decided to ignore his outbreak..

"Anyway, Dumbledore told me everything…"

"So what?"

He was slumped back into the chair, watching her wearily.

"I intend to get you out of here", she said.

He snorted. "How? On the evidence of a spirit in a mirror? Don't be daft, Ms Moody."

"I think Dumbledore knows a way", Alexandra answered thoughtfully, "but he said you had to be willing."

"Exactly, and I'm not."

"Why? You're innocent. And don't tell me you like it here."

He sighed in exasperation.

"I'm not innocent, Ms Moody, oh no! I did a lot of things the description of which would curdle your blood. I deserve punishment."

"You didn't murder Dumbledore and as for the rest of your crimes – are five years in prison not enough?"

"Not enough to erase the guilt inside me."

He glared at her, then added harshly, "Don't waste your energy and your time on a worthless case, Ms Moody. Leave me alone."

Alexandra stared at him open-mouthed. It was unbelievable how this man was clinging to his misery.

"Have you run out of arguments?" he asked silkily. "Then you'd better go."

She glared at him with clenched teeth. There was a faint expression of triumph and amusement on his face, which was oddly in contrast with his black eye and which made her tremble with helpless fury. Stubborn man! Stupid, arrogant bastard!

She forced herself to breath deeply, to stay calm.

"You won't get rid of me so easily, Mr Snape, be assured of that. I'm leaving, but I'll return."

She signalled to the guard behind the glass partition. Snape bowed his head gracefully and smirked. Then the door opened, the guards made the chains drop and he was led away.

"So what did he say?" The old face in the mirror was full of concern.

"He said 'no'." Alexandra cried out, glad to be able to give full vent to her anger and frustration. "This miserable, stupid, obstinate, stubborn, arrogant bastard absolutely refuses to co-operate. He says he's guilty and deserves punishment."

Dumbledore smiled affectionately.

"Exactly as I suspected."

Alexandra snorted. This was ridiculous!

"But how can we help him if he doesn't want to be helped?"

"It is a question of perseverance," the old wizard said softly. "You must visit him again and again, and perhaps – one day – he will acquiesce."

"Perhaps one day!" Alexandra shook her head in frustration.

"He's not well, I don't think we have much time. Azkaban is not exactly a holiday resort, you know. Anyway, what will we do if he gives his consent?"

Dumbledore's eyes had lost their twinkle. He sighed.

"As soon as he agrees, a letter will appear on the desk of the Minister of Magic, explaining the whole situation. Simultaneously copies of this letter will go to the _Daily Prophet_ and the _Wizarding Wireless_."

"Why can't these letters appear earlier?"

"I wanted to make sure that Severus was not in any way involved in a Death Eater meeting or one of their activities at the time the letter would be made public, I wanted him to be safe, to keep his cover."

Alexandra sighed, "And if he doesn't agree?"

"Then the letter will appear after his death," Dumbledore said sadly. "His name will be cleared posthumously."

Wonderful! Alexandra thought, this would do him a lot of good. She let out a sharp breath of annoyance.

"And there isn't anything you can do about it? Change the arrangement somehow? I mean, if you are able to talk to me although you are dead, it must be possible to…"

"No, Ms Moody, I'm afraid I can't. Even my powers are limited. I still have the use of magic that has been set up before my demise, but unfortunately I'm not able to create new magic or do alterations, I'm sorry."

The image shrugged.

"So it all depends on me, the Squib and on my powers of persuasion. Great! Fine! Absolutely ingenious, Mr Dumbledore!"

The old wizard's face was sad and drawn.

"Tell me if I'm asking too much of you."

"Asking too much! You are the famous Albus Dumbledore, allegedly the mightiest wizard of our century, you are responsible for sending an innocent man to Azkaban and now you haven't got any idea how to get him out again. All you can think of is contacting me, who couldn't get any magic out of a wand if her life depended on it. What kind of solution do you expect from me? I'm a Squib, for God's sake!"

"You are the woman who cares for Severus," the mirror corrected her patiently.

She stopped dead and frowned at the old man.

"What do you mean by that? 'The woman who cares'? I'm not in love with him!" she cried out angrily.

The image of Dumbledore smiled. "I didn't say so, did I?"

She looked at the old face sceptically.

"I'm not in love with him," she repeated, "but I care for him as a fellow human being. He has been treated unfairly and that's why I want to help him, do you understand that?"

She breathed hard.

"But I still don't know how."

The face was all benevolence when the old wizard replied, "Yes, of course, Ms Moody, I understand you perfectly well. And I'm sure you'll find a way."

It was late afternoon, the sun was still hot in the inner yard of Azkaban. Severus Snape was on his knees, selecting stones for paving the yard, putting one next to the other in neat half circles, knocking them in place with a hammer. He cast glances at the guards every now and then, because if a prisoner was too slow with his work, they would be there with their cudgels and whips. His knees and his back hurt, he had a headache and felt dizzy. They had to work from morning till evening without eating or drinking, without a protection against the blazing sun.

He closed his eyes and attempted a deep breath, which resulted in another cough. The dizziness remained. He was reaching for the next stone, when blackness overcame him and he fell. He woke to the biting of the whips on his flesh. Desperately he struggled to get up, but failed miserably and collapsed again.

"Stop it!" A rough voice commanded. "Look at him, he's ill. Probably sunstroke."

Cold water was poured over his head, a cup was held to his lips and he drank greedily. Then he was unlocked from the chain that bound six prisoners together, strong hands grabbed him and dragged him into the shadow of the wall.

"His hand is bleeding, he cut himself", someone said and a dirty rag was wrapped around his hand and he was left alone. The stones against his back were rough and warm. His mouth was still parched, his sight was blurred and the harsh voices of the guards sounded far away. He closed his eyes. The face of Alexandra Moody appeared, looking at him with concern and pity. He didn't want pity, he told the face to go away, but it remained.

"You're innocent", the face said over and over again. "You're innocent!"

She wanted to work for his release. What a silly idea! Who would listen to her? There was no evidence of the agreement between Dumbledore and himself, otherwise it would have been found long ago. And he didn't want to be released. What for? What should he do? Nobody would want to have anything to do with him, the Death Eater, who had done terrible things. He didn't want to take up the struggle that was called life once again. Enough was enough. And for him it would be over soon…

"No", he whispered, "no, I'm not innocent. I deserve punishment. I'm not innocent!"

"You've got a point there, Snape. "Someone laughed and kicked him. "Get up!"

He opened his eyes. A guard was standing next to him.

"Your shift is over, get up!" the man repeated, raising his whip.

Quickly Snape scrambled to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. Then he slowly joined the queue of tired men shuffling towards the door leading into the building.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing the wonderful characters._


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear reviewers, thank you very, very much for your comments and sorry for not replying. S__omething happened to my e-mails. I read and enjoyed them, but before I could answer them they vanished from my computer and I couldn't get them back. I have no idea where they've gone to._ _So here's the next chapter and the chance to try again :)_

_Leliha_

**Chapter Six: Futiliy**

Alexandra had applied for another permit for Azkaban as soon as possible, hoping to find a way of talking Severus Snape out of his notion that prison was the place where he belonged. Dumbledore's image had not been able to provide further help. The old wizard had kept talking about 'perseverance' and 'womanly instincts' until Alexandra had got tired of it and had chucked the mirror face down into a drawer. From there it had emitted a faint, but constant humming sound ever since, but by turning on the stereo she had managed to ignore it.

It was cold this time, too cold for July, dark clouds and rain alternating with sunshine and strong gusts of wind. The waves made the boat dance wildly and Alexandra was glad that nervous anticipation had made her skip breakfast this morning.

And now it was the third time she went through the motions of entering the fortress and it had not lost any of its dreads. The visitor's room, the prisoner, the chains. He looked worse than ever, emaciated, eyes sunken in his sallow face. His left hand was wrapped with a dirty bandage, there were dark stains on his uniform - dried blood?

"You again, Ms Moody? You never give up, do you?" he said as a greeting. "I must tell you, I haven't changed my mind. So don't waste any more of your time and go."

A coughing fit shook him.

Alexandra swallowed hard, fighting against the impatient urge to shout at him, to grab his shoulders and shake him out of his stubborn arrogance. She forced herself to remain calm.

"You are ill. Do you really want to die in here?" she asked softly.

"Why not? I don't cling to my life and nobody else cares. Good riddance!" he spat, underlining his words with violent coughing, which left him slumped in the chair, his eyes closed, his face drawn in pain. There was a small patch of spittle and blood on his chin. He couldn't wipe it away with his hands chained to the chair.

Alexandra watched in mute fascination as the reddish spittle made its way down his chin, forming into a tiny drop amidst his black stubble. Arguments were useless here. She shook herself out of her hypnotized stare and reached for her bag, looking for a tissue. Then she slowly got up from her chair and went over to him. He didn't show any signs of noticing what she was about to do. Very gently she wiped his chin clean. His eyes shot open, he stared at her in disbelief. She attempted a shy smile and put her hand on his uninjured right one. It twitched, he certainly would have liked to snatch it away, but being bound to the chair he couldn't. So he just glared at her. Alexandra held the eye contact. And suddenly she felt herself being sucked into these eyes, into his mind, she could sense the fortress of loneliness, self-loathing and despair he had built there. She shuddered, wanted to back out, get away from this unspeakable misery, but something held her mind in a grip of iron, forced her to watch and experience and suddenly there was something else, a little spark of hope trying to break through the walls, an obstinate spark that seemed to come from her own mind, sneaking its clandestine way into his. The spark was there, with a will of its own, she didn't have the power to control it, to call it back or urge it on. It seemed to grow, to become brighter and faster…

"Get out! Leave me alone!" he hissed and with a painful moan turned his head away. Alexandra blinked and came back into the reality of the prison room. Her heart was pounding, her ears were filled with the sound of its rapid beat. What on earth had happened? Had she really been inside his mind?

"You're a squib, you can't do that," she heard him whisper hoarsely.

"I didn't do anything, it just happened, I don't understand it," she breathed. She felt awful, nauseous, a dull pain was spreading in her head, her mouth was dry, her hands cold and sweaty.

He looked at her again, there was a strange expression in his eyes.

"Of course you don't. Go now, leave me alone."

And when she just kept standing there, staring at him in confusion, he shouted, "Don't you hear me? Go!"

He, too, was confused and agitated, and absolutely furious. His body strained against the chains, he was breathing hard and coughing,

"But I don't…"

"Go!"

Blazing eyes, face no longer pale but red and contorted into a horrible mask of fury. For once Alexandra was glad that the chains bound him to the chair.

Still trembling with confusion she signalled to the guard and watched as Snape was led away again, supported by the guards, too weak to walk unaided.

Damn! Damn, damn, damn! Another visit gone awry, another failure. It was hopeless. Why was this man so difficult? What had made her start this sentimental concern for him in the first place? He was right, she was wasting her time. He would never co-operate, all her efforts were useless, they only caused her headaches and left her totally exhausted. And now this strange connection, this transmission of thoughts and feelings. Surely this was mental! First she had started communicating with an image in a mirror and now this. Was this the road to madness? She should stop bothering about Snape before it would cause her serious damage.

The wild roundabout of confused thoughts and impressions remained with her all the way to London. She still did not understand what had happened, it had been so strange and unnerving an experience, embarrassing even. Somehow she did not want to talk about it, not even to Dumbledore; but although he didn't question her vague account of the visit, he seemed to guess something from the bits of information she gave him reluctantly and –strangely enough - it seemed to please him, because his eyes twinkled, he chuckled softly and repeated under his breath, "Very good, very good."

He did not volunteer to explain this comment to Alexandra and she was too tired to ask.

Unceremoniously she chucked the mirror back into its drawer without further conversation and went to bed. But her mind was in a turmoil and she could not fall asleep for a long time. And when she finally did, she dreamed. It was nothing coherent, just confused images of people being tortured and killed, of a battlefield full of smoke and screams, accompanied by this constant, nagging, helpless feeling of being responsible for all the damage. She woke, drenched in sweat and with a terrible headache. What was happening to her? She went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes had a haunted look. Dreadful. She looked as bad as she felt. She grimaced at her image and stepped into the shower.

One hour later, after plenty of hot water and several cups of strong coffee Alexandra was ready to face another day at the office. She left her flat, determined to forget about Severus Snape and the face of Dumbledore in the mirror.

Severus Snape stared at the wooden bowl in front of him. He knew he should be hungry and he knew he needed to eat, but his stomach was a tight knot, even the thought of one more spoonful of the grey lukewarm liquid they called soup brought along a wave of nausea.

Around him were the noises of many people eating. They were not allowed to talk with each other, so there were just the slurping and scraping sounds to be heard. He coughed and noticed the others stare at him. In their eyes he could read their thoughts: Another one to die soon. He concentrated on breathing, listening to the gurgling noises in his chest. Maybe they were right. And death was welcome. Or was it? He thought of Alexandra Moody. How had she managed to enter his mind? He shuddered at the memory and yet - her presence had been comforting, soothing, it had evoked some hope… No! he commanded. There was no hope for him, no redemption, no freedom. He would die in prison. It wouldn't be long now.

A shrill whistle. End of the meal. The prisoners rose and shuffled towards the exit of the hall, where guards awaited them to lock them into their cells for the night. Someone pushed Snape, he stumbled and fell against the man in front of him, who spun round with an oath and hit him with his fist. Snape crumbled to the floor. Vicious feet kicked him and he tasted blood. Then the guards were upon them with their cudgels, swearing and shouting. Bruised and bleeding Snape was lying on the floor, trying to protect his head with his arms. Rough hands pulled him upright.

"Oh, it's him again", a hard voice said and he was dragged away. His half-conscious mind realized that they were not on the way to his cell. His heart sank. He knew what was coming.

Three flights of stairs down they pushed him into a narrow, windowless cell with just enough room for a man to stand upright. One of the two guards squeezed in next to him fastening Snape's hands to chains hanging from the wall, locking his leg irons to a hook on the floor. He would be forced to stand in this position for hours on end in complete darkness with his face to the rough stones, unable to move. It was one of their favourite methods of punishment and it was hard even if you were healthy and strong. Apart from the bruised and chafed wrists there would be painfully swollen legs from the water collecting in his lower body.

"You should have learned by now that disorderly behaviour results in punishment", the guard barked, leaving the cell and ordering his colleague to clean away the blood. Snape was hit by a bucketful of cold water. Then the door closed and he was alone in the darkness, dripping wet, his teeth chattering. He tried to take the strain from his wrists and arms by leaning on the wall. In vain – his legs gave way, they were too weak. His wrists hurt. He did nothing to hold back the desperate tears of pain running down his face, their salty taste mixing with that of the blood. Gathering all his strength he let out a cry that made his throat sore. Death would come soon…

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these wonderful characters_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Narrow Escape**

She didn't succeed. Try as she might Alexandra couldn't get Severus Snape out of her head, couldn't ignore the humming of the mirror forever. So she started consulting Dumbledore again and together they planned another visit to Azkaban. This time she had to wait three weeks before she was granted a visiting permit - plenty of time to prepare new strategies of argumentation.

But when she arrived at the gate she was told that the prisoner was ill and too weak to see her. Alexandra's heart sank. No, this couldn't be true, he could not die before she had a chance to get him free!

"I want to see him," she demanded with as much authority as she could muster. "Take me to his cell."

"He's in the infirmary."

"Then take me there."

The guard looked at her doubtfully. "It isn't allowed."

"I don't care. I insist on seeing him, I've come all the way from London and I haven't made this journey for nothing!"

"Visitors are not allowed in the infirmary."

Alexandra was close to tears. She had to see him!

"Why are you so heartless! He may be dying."

The guard snorted. "So what? Merlin, he's just a prisoner, all of them die sooner or later."

"He's a human being and he has the right to be treated as such."

She tried very hard to blink back her tears. The guard rolled his eyes. He had been trained in dealing with hysterical female visitors recently, had thought it a complete waste of time, but now it looked as if he could use the newly acquired skills. 'Be polite, but firm. Show compassion, but always refer to the rules. If in doubt ask your superior officer' the instructor had said. Right.

"I must ask for permission."

"Then ask, for God's sake."

The man shrugged and wrote something on a piece of parchment, which he then folded and sent flying along the corridor. Alexandra paced the small room, studied the wall, counted the stones to calm her nerves. It seemed ages before a fluttering sound could be heard and something white landed on the guard's desk. He unfolded it and studied the message carefully. Alexandra bit her fingers with impatience.

"As I've said. Sorry, but you can't see him."

The guard shrugged apologetically and picked up the _Daily Prophet_ he had been reading.

"But why? I must see him. Please."

"Lady, didn't you hear me? It's against the rules. Now please leave the building."

Alexandra felt as if she was drowning in a sea of despair. She stared at the thickset figure of the guard, her breath coming in rapid gasps she tried to find words to persuade him, but nothing came out of her mouth and then the walls began to sway, she heard the man utter a curse and lost consciousness.

She woke to a stinging smell in her nostrils which made her shudder with disgust.

An elderly woman was bending over her, a small bottle in her hand. "There," the woman said with a smile, "as I said, Sir – these smelling salts could wake you from the dead."

"Thank you, Liz."

A tall, heavily built man with long, curly brown hair and the robes of a high-ranking Auror came into Alexandra' view.

"Good morning, Ms Moody, I'm Hieronimus Hawe, the director of Azkaban. How are you?"

His voice was polite, but she could sense wariness and disapproval behind the façade.

Alexandra sat up. Apart from a faint feeling of pressure in her head she was fine.

She smiled at the director.

"Fine, I think. I'm sorry for causing such an inconvenience, low blood pressure, you know…"

"It's alright. So you wanted to see prisoner Snape?"

Suddenly it all came back to her. He was ill, they wouldn't let her see him! She sat up eagerly. Perhaps this man could help her.

Mr Hawe looked at a parchment. Alexandra recognized it as her application form.

"You're writing his biography? Interviewing him about his life?"

She nodded. The director shrugged.

"The man's dying. Leave him alone," he said coldly.

Alexandra jumped from her chair.

"But…"

"Can't you people see when it's time to stop harassing someone?"

Now his anger and disgust were obvious.

"Let him die in peace. His death will most probably boost the sales of your book, so there's nothing for you to complain about, is there?" the Auror sneered.

Alexandra froze and stared at him open-mouthed. What did he think of her? Right, she was working for the _Daily Prophet_, whose ethics concerning truth and privacy were not very high, but she herself had never been hunting after sensations or exploited other people's tragedies for her writing. That was not her idea of journalism. She was taking a deep breath intending to defend herself, when a thought struck her. If this official cared for the dying prisoner then maybe telling the truth about her visits would persuade him into helping her.

"I 've always filled in this biography-thing as a reason for my coming to see him, but in reality…" she had to pause to get rid of her tears and to make her voice work again.

"In reality I've come to see him as a friend."

"As a friend?" Incredulously the director stared at her.

"Yes – yes, well, I – I like him – and I think he's - wrongly imprisoned."

There was a few minutes' silence, the director and his secretary exchanging embarrassed glances, while Alexandra tried to make her tears stop.

"I've always thought he didn't have any friends," the director said quietly, ignoring the statement about Snape's innocence.

Sobbing, Alexandra shrugged helplessly.

He studied her for a few minutes, then sighed.

"Alright, you can see him," the director finally said. "Come with me."

Severus Snape was floating, pleasantly defying gravity, floating in two places at once.

He was in a cold, dark tunnel and was slowly drawn towards its far end, where there was warmth and light. It was not the harsh, white light of the infirmary lamps, but a warm, yellow light, soft and promising. There were voices in the light, voices he recognized. Albus' voice and Narcissa's voice, Narcissa, unfortunate wife of Lucius Malfoy who had died at the hands of the Dark Lord together with her son Draco. Another woman's voice - his mother…The voices were calling him, calling him to join them and he drifted out of the cold darkness towards the light, slowly, gently, steadily.

At the same time he was floating near the ceiling of the infirmary room, looking down at his own body in the narrow bed. The healers had finally left him alone, with the curtains drawn around his cubicle. His body was covered with a grey blanket so that the chain locking his right ankle to the bed was invisible. Rigid with pain was this body, this weak and ill, this dying body. Up here there was no pain. Slowly he did a lazy somersault to have a closer look. It was very still, this body, there was a bluish tinge in the thin face. Interesting, was that what death looked like?

Suddenly there was a commotion. A tall man in an Auror's robes entered the infirmary with a woman in tow. They had a quick word with a healer and then came over to his corner. He recognized the man. The director of Azkaban. He recognized the woman as well. Alexandra Moody, the only person in the world who believed him innocent. Stupid woman. What was she doing here? Why couldn't she leave him alone? It was over.

He saw her sit down on the stool next to the bed. First she just looked at him, then she took his hand into hers and held it. He could feel her soft skin on his. Amazing, how did this work, after all he was up here? She said something, he could see her lips move, but he couldn't hear the words. Strange, what was wrong with his senses? Why could he feel, but not hear? He would have to go down a bit, get a bit closer. She touched his cheek with her fingers. It was a caress, soft and gentle. Pleasant. Now he could hear her. What did she say? Oh, just his name. Severus. Since when had they been on first-name terms? But it was soothing to hear her say it. Severus. Nobody had ever pronounced it this way before…

"Severus, don't go!"

There were tears in that voice. Tears and something else. But what? The other voices, louder now, calling him from the light, inviting him to join them. He had to go. This was the moment he had been waiting for all these years. However – Alexandra Moody's voice, her touch – he didn't want to leave them just now. He remembered her being inside his mind. He still didn't understand how she had managed to do this, he wanted to learn more about it, he had to find out the reasons for this connection…

"Severus, please."

Merlin! He had heard this phrase before! Albus – that night on the tower. He had been reliving the scene over and over again, had heard the phrase in his dreams ever since. It meant death. Or did it?

"Severus, please, don't die!"

Yes, there were tears in the voice. Die? What a harsh word. He merely wanted to join the other voices in the light. The light looked so promising, warm and welcoming. The voices, more insistent now, pulling him towards it, lulling him into following them. Albus, Lucius, Draco, James Potter, Sirius Black … Sirius Black? James Potter? NO! WAIT! He didn't want to go where they were. He certainly didn't want to follow when they were calling. Albus had always taken their side – would this just continue down there in the light? NO! Albus would have to wait, Narcissa as well, all of them. He wasn't ready. Not yet, not like this! After all, here, right next to him, was this gentle hand caressing his skin, this soft voice pronouncing his name in such a unique, loving way. He didn't want to leave her, he wanted to experience more of her voice, of her touch. Resolutely he started fighting against the pull of the light and the voices, frantically moving his arms and legs to get away…

Severus Snape opened his eyes.

"Severus!" There was joy in her voice now, joy and excitement. With an immense effort he turned his head and looked at her. Her cheeks were wet, her eyes red from crying. Had she been crying for him? How extraordinary.

Ms Moody, he wanted to say, but out came only a hoarse croak. Her hand on his hand – slowly he made his stiff fingers move, bending them, closing them around hers, squeezing her hand gently. She smiled. Their eyes met. He let himself fall into these eyes, they swallowed him, making him welcome, taking him home…

Noises, loud, rapid steps. A woman with high heels.

"Sir!"

Alexandra started and looked over her shoulder, as if suddenly becoming aware of the director's presence again. She coloured slightly.

The director, who had been watching the scene from the background, turned and left the cubicle quickly. He was irritated about the interruption, embarrassed at being found out of having witnessed such an intimate scene.

"What is it, Liz?" he asked roughly.

His secretary panted, a role of parchment in her outstretched hand..

"An express owl from the ministry, Sir, an urgent message…"

The director sighed. Ministry officials! What was it this time they considered so urgent? He tore the letter open and read it. Frowned, read it again. Then he turned and cast a thoughtful look at the half-opened curtains of the cubicle through which the woman's back was just visible. Snape. This couldn't be a coincidence. He scanned the letter once more. New evidence – a new trial – innocence. Great Merlin! If it hadn't been for Alexandra Moody the man would probably be dead by now! He was too ill to appear before the wizengamot. He needed medical care, more than they could provide here in Azkaban. He had to go to St Mungo's.

The director returned the letter to his secretary and, asking her to prepare an express owl to the Ministry, sent her to her desk at once. Then he went back to Snape's bed.

"Ms Moody," he said softly and when she looked up he had to clear his throat before he could go on.

"You can stay with him for a while if you want to. I must go back to my office. Prisoner Snape will most probably be transferred to St Mungo's within the next two hours. The ministry wants to re-open his case. Obviously there is some evidence of his innocence. Seems as if you were right, Ms Moody."

He smiled wryly, nodded and was gone.

Alexandra turned to Snape again. Had he heard? The prisoner's eyes were closed, he had lost consciousness again. Alexandra intensified her grip of his hand and hoped that the transfer to St Mungo's would be in time for him to survive.

Late at night she returned to London, tired and exhausted, barely able to climb the stairs to her flat. She felt weak from not having eaten all day and her vision was blurred with fatigue. But it was done. Snape was out of Azkaban, they had established a special floo-connection to St Mungo's and taken him there. Despite her pleas she had not been allowed to accompany him and had started her journey home, the director himself seeing her to the boat. It all felt like a dream.

She didn't bother taking off her shoes and her jacket, but went straight to the chest of drawers to speak to the mirror. But Dumbledore appeared to know already, he smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling more than ever before, his half-moon spectacles glittering in the lamplight.

"Well done, Ms Moody, congratulations."

"I didn't do much and I still don't understand what happened," she replied wearily.

"It's very simple. He nearly died, you made him come back," the old wizard said and nodded gravely.

"You mean, he nearly died and so the letters appeared?"

"Exactly, Ms Moody."

More smiles, more twinkes.

Alexandra yawned. Her mind still didn't want to be too optimistic.

"He's very ill. And there was something about a trial. He's not free yet."

"Don't worry, Ms Moody, all will be well."

And when she yawned again and swayed a bit, clutching at the drawer for support, the old wizard added gently, "And now go to bed, Ms Moody, you need your rest. All will be well."

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these fascinating characters_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: End and New Beginning**

Six weeks later, at 11 o'clock in the morning, Severus Snape was a free man. The Ministry had waited with the trial until his state of health had improved sufficiently for him to attend and then it had taken the Wizengamot barely two hours to go through the evidence and restore his status as an honourable member of the wizarding society.

Alexandra was waiting in courtroom five. When her editor had decided on who should write about the trial and about Dumbledore's letters and the amazing circumstances of their appearance, she had been the obvious choice and had cleverly managed to compose her articles in such a way as to provide all the information the readers would be interested in without revealing her own role in the matter. The professional involvement gained her access to St Mungo's and she had visited Snape several times. At first he had been unconscious most of the time, then he had been awake, but too weak to talk much, and later his attitude had made it clear that he did not want to speak about their moment of intimacy in the infirmary and consequently Alexandra had also been too embarrassed to mention it. So their conversation had been purely professional and non-committing, discussing only neutral matters like the upcoming trial.

The spectators were filing out of the courtroom now, laughing and talking. Snape, still in prison garb, still pale and thin, was standing next to his seat, talking to a Ministry official. Slowly Alexandra went up to them, carrying a small suitcase and a black cloak folded over her arm.

The official looked up.

"Yes?"

"I'm Alexandra Moody from the _Daily Prophet. _Can I have a word with Mr Snape, please?"

The official sighed with irritation and looked at Snape enquiringly. The former potions master hesitated, but then inclined his head.

Alexandra handed him the cloak.

"I thought you'd prefer to wear this. I've also got your other clothes in here."

She lifted the suitcase a bit.

"Professor McGonnagal sent them from Hogwarts."

"Thank you."

Two simple words, spoken without emphasis of any kind and yet in his eyes she could discern a brief expression of genuine gratitude. Quickly he donned the cloak, hiding the humiliation of the prison uniform.

"Is there a place where we can talk in private?" Alexandra asked the official.

The man rolled his eyes, but then showed them to a door in the far wall, which opened into a small and dark room furnished with a table and four chairs.

"You can use this," the official said, "when you have finished, see me in my office, Sn… eh, _Mr_ Snape. There's still some paperwork to see to. Room 534, fifth floor. Don't be too long."

With that he left. Alexandra put the suitcase on one of the chairs. They remained standing on opposite sides of the small table.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

Snape wrapped his cloak around his body as if for protection and stared at the dusty tabletop in front of him. Finally he spoke, in a voice barely audible.

"I don't know. I'm glad it's over, so there is some kind of relief, I suppose, but apart from that – nothing, there's just a tired void."

Alexandra swallowed, nervously biting her knuckles, not really knowing how to continue. The situation was so awkward. They were acting like strangers, both of them careful not to cross any boundaries, not to take one single step into each other's privacy and personal emotions. No, this wasn't true, they were worse than strangers, because beneath the polite surface both of them were acutely and painfully aware of those shared moments of intimacy at Azkaban.

"Have you got any plans for the future?" This was the obvious question for a reporter to ask.

He raised his head and looked at her with a sneer of contempt.

"No. And if I had any, I wouldn't announce them to you and the rest of wizarding Britain," he spat. "You should be intelligent enough to refrain from asking such a silly question."

"Oh yes, absolutely, right," Alexandra stammered and felt her face get hot. He _was_ right and she felt close to tears. After another lapse of uncomfortable silence she reached into her bag and put a small parcel, carefully wrapped in brown paper, on the table.

"This is yours. I still have some respect for other people's property," she said in a voice forced to sound light and neutral.

He stared at the parcel, scowling.

"I don't want it."

Alexandra shrugged. "I don't want it, either. And it's yours, you can smash it if you like."

He extended a hand and traced the edge of the parcel with his forefinger, deeply lost in thought, as if no longer aware of Alexandra's presence.

She cleared her throat.

"Is there anything you'd like me to write? Anything you'd like to tell the public?"

A barking sound of contempt was the only answer she received. And when she kept looking at him expectantly he added an exasperated "NO!" and turned round in a swirl of black fabric, so that he was facing the wall, his back to her.

Silence. She could hear his breathing.

"Right then, I'll bother you no longer. Good bye, Mr Snape," she managed to say calmly, congratulating herself inwardly on her self-control.

No reaction. She waited, slowly counting the seconds. Nothing.

With a sigh she turned towards the door.

"Good bye, Ms Moody." And after another pause, as if it was an immense effort to pronounce, "I - thank you."

She looked over her shoulder. He had not turned, there was only his back for her to look at, black, stiff and hostile.

Quickly she left the room.

That had been two years ago. Alexandra had heard about his going through the formalities with the Ministry and then apparating to Hogwarts. The greetings he had exchanged with his former colleagues had been short and formal and then he had retrieved his belongings. And vanished. Nobody knew where he had gone to. There were speculations and rumours, but none of them proved true. So at last Severus Snape was forgotten, life went on without him, except that there remained a raw and sensitive spot deep inside Alexandra Moody's soul, a spot the existence of which she would admit to nobody and least of all to herself.

Alexandra was sitting at her desk, staring at the screen of her computer. The _Prophet_ had finally given in and fitted out her workplace with the latest state-of-the-art model, a reward for her excellent insight in and coverage of the Snape-story. With the new technology had come a new task: She was to check international Muggle newspapers for information that might concern the wizarding world because she was the only member of staff who, due to her Muggle schooling, was familiar with foreign languages. Most of the time her search was fruitless, therefore she was not very attentive when she scrolled through the online edition of Le Soir. Suddenly her eye caught the word "magique" and her finger on the mouse slowed down. She scrolled back to the beginning of the article and started reading more carefully. It was from the health section and described the miraculous healing of a small girl from Normandy who had been suffering from a very painful and incurable skin disease for years. Her parents had bought a salve at a market stall in Southern France while on holidays and it had worked wonders on their daughter's skin. The doctors had no explanation for the success of the salve, could only call it magic. Chemical analysis had failed to reveal the exact nature of the ingredients. The newspaper had tried in vain to identify the source of the mysterious medicine. The stall owner had described the producer as a kind of hermit living in solitude somewhere in the Pyrrhenees, but had declined to give any further information. As the salve promised to be a great medical and financial success, both the French Ministry of Health and several pharmaceutical firms were looking for the manufacturer, so far without any success.

Alexandra frowned and drummed her fingers on the edge of her desk thoughtfully. A hermit who was able to produce a potent medicine and didn't want to be found – she couldn't help it, to her it sounded so much like Severus Snape. A small excited flicker of hope rose in Alexandra's heart. Could it really be him? She had tried so hard to forget him, had told herself over and over again that he was not worth the heartache and longing she felt whenever she thought of him. At their last meeting in the Ministry he had shown how hard, cold and emotionally cruel a man he was. He was not worth it. And yet…

She decided to give up on other European newspapers and intensify her investigation into the matter of the salve and its source in other French papers. By the end of the day she had found some useful information about the area the hermit was believed to live in. For a long time she stared at the stack of print-outs she had made, then went back on the internet to book a cheap flight to the South of France for the following week, the beginning of her holidays.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for the invention of these wonderful characters_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Magic in the Mountains**

It was noon on a sunny and windy Tuesday two weeks later when Alexandra got off a bus in the centre of a small village northwest of Perpignan. The few shops were closing for the midday break, it was quiet. Alexandra was dressed for a vigorous hike: Walking boots and combat trousers, a light-weight anorak and a backpack. She consulted a map and set off, following the course of a small river. The previous week had been hard and tedious work, and she had often been on the brink of giving up. Local people obviously were fed up with the media interest in the mysterious hermit and his medicine and did not volunteer information willingly. Alexandra had finally found the owner of the market stall, Madame Derusseau, an elderly, formidable woman with jet black hair and a very large bosom and had inspected some of the hermit's other products. The salves, shampoos and soaps hadn't revealed anything and the woman had flatly refused to tell her more about the man, no pleas, bribes or coaxing could persuade her to change her mind. So Alexandra had finally decided to give her search a rest – for the time being at least. She intended to walk off her frustration and visit an old monastery deep in the mountains. It was a tourist attraction and she could have taken a bus right to the site, but she wanted to free her thoughts from the constant presence of Severus Snape and hoped a brisk walk through unspoilt nature would do the trick. So now she was on her way, following the meandering river right back to its source in the mountains.

After one hour of brisk walking the path stopped going uphill, emerged from the dense wood and became level again. The wind freshened and created a tinkling sensation on her hot face. Time to slow down for a break and a picknick. She walked on, looking for a place to sit down. Suddenly a roof came into view, then the rest of a small cottage built from the local stone of greyish brown, surrounded by an overgrown garden. She stopped and looked at it in surprise. It seemed to be intact, but there was no sign of it being lived in, such a long way from the village and civilization. It was a lonely spot indeed, she had not met a soul on her way from the village. Curiously she walked down the small path that led to the house. It looked like the very definition of the adjective 'picturesque'. There was an old wooden bridge across the narrow stream and then she was at the hedge that surrounded the garden. She hesitated and looked around. Still no trace of inhabitants. No washing on a clothes line, no children's toys, no vehicles, no garden tools. The garden was overgrown, but also full of alluring colours and smells. Something seemed to draw her towards it, made her ignore the knowledge that this had to be private property, some secret force prevented her from turning round and going back to the main path. So it seemed only consistent to throw caution to the wind and try the handle of the wooden garden gate. It opened noiselessly. She waited, listening for sounds of people living here, her heart beating rapidly. Then, on an impulse, she entered - and at once found herself held in a fierce grip, a strong arm around her throat and something pressed to her temple. She closed her eyes, cursed herself for her stupid carelessness and curiosity and expected whatever was in stake for her now. But instead the grip was released and she heard a familiar, incredulous voice saying softly, "Ms Moody?!" before she collapsed on the grass…

Alexandra drifted to the surface. She felt the warm sun on her face and warm, weathered wood beneath her back. There was a strong smell of lavender and the humming of bees. A hand was in her hair, gently pushing it back from her forehead. It felt good, she didn't want it to stop and so she kept her eyes closed. Suddenly she was overcome with an overwhelming urge to sneeze. She couldn't resist it, her nose exploded violently and catapulted her back into reality.

"Oh, hello," a deep, mocking voice said next to her right ear.

She turned her head and froze. There was none other but Severus Snape, crouching next to the wooden bench on which she was lying. Alexandra couldn't help staring at him, taking in his appearance and at the same time not believing her eyes. The years of strain and misery had left their traces in the lines of his thin face and in his unfathomable eyes, but still he looked much better than he had at their last meeting. His hair, now liberally streaked with grey, was back to shoulder length, and his face showed the light, freckled tan of the very fair-skinned people. He didn't wear robes. She could see a white shirt that clearly had seen better days, open at the neck and the sleeves rolled up to reveal sinewy, tanned arms. He, too, regarded her with a mixture of concern and disbelief.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, I think so," she replied uncertainly and struggled into an upright position. He straightened and sat down next to her on the bench.

"First theft and now trespassing – your criminal record is getting quite impressive, Ms Moody," he remarked with a mocking smile .

When she didn't respond, his expression became serious and he asked, "How did you find me?"

Alexandra snorted, rummaging in her rucksack for a handkerchief.

"Actually, I didn't. I tried, but ran against walls everywhere, so I gave up. I had no idea you lived here. I was on my way to the monastery, when I came across this lonely house and was just curious."

Her voice sounded very thin. She still felt like in a dream. There was Severus Snape sitting next to her on the bench amidst the smell of lavender and the humming of bees, wearing faded jeans and no shoes. And when he didn't reply, but just kept looking at her with his raised eyebrow and a faint smile of disbelief on his lips, she told him how she had stumbled over the word 'magic' in the newspaper article and about her further investigations, which had led to Madame Derusseau and from there to nothing.

He frowned at her, then lowered his eyes and studied his fingernails. Alexandra watched him. His hands were still hard and calloused and told of manual work. She felt the ridiculous need to touch them and clasped her own hands tightly around her handkerchief in order to resist the temptation. They were listening to the garden sounds. After a while his dark eyes were on her again.

"Why did you want to find me?" he asked, and when she did not answer, he continued with a voice full of sarcasm, "Do you intend to write another article about me? Or a book?"

The questions came like a slap in the face. Insolent bastard! He had not changed a bit. But she forced herself to remain cool. She looked at him and grimaced. "Oh, I don't really know. Curiosity, I suppose."

"Curiosity? You wondered if the former Death Eater and convict was able to become a useful member of society, didn't you?"

She shrugged and stared straight ahead at the lavender bushes, deciding not to rise to his bait of acid. Curiosity, yes, but there was something else, something she had been unable to ignore for the past two years: Severus Snape had been haunting her mind and her heart, she had never been able to quench the passionate desire to see him again. But she wouldn't admit it, not after his sarcastic remarks.

He looked at her with that strange expression again.

"This cottage isn't on the way to the monastery. You took the wrong turning about half-way between the village and here," he said slowly.

Alexandra lifted her hands in defeat. "Women can't read maps."

"Maybe, but I don't believe in coincidences," he replied firmly.

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering he got up and went over to the edge of a small herb garden. There he stood with his back to her and his arms folded in front of his chest. Alexandra was left to stare at his back once again and was hit by a bitter sensation of déja-vu. She suddenly was furious with herself. How could she have forgotten his behaviour at the Ministry? It had been a mistake to look for him. He was not keen on human company, now no more than he had been two years ago. And he certainly was not keen on her company. What a fool she had been!

"I'd better go now. I really want to see the monastery, it's famous," she said and picked up her backpack.

"Wait!" He turned abruptly and came towards her.

"It's a long way to go," he added slowly, as if each syllable caused him an immense effort. "I could apparate us there. I just have to fetch my shoes."

Alexandra stared at him in disbelief.. What did this mean now? Did he not want to get rid of her as soon as possible?

"You don't have to go out of your way to entertain me. I don't want to give you any trouble," she said coldly. Touché, she thought triumphantly when she saw his mouth twitch.

But his voice remained calm and polite. "You don't. I like the place, I go there quite often. Wait."

With this he went into the house and returned wearing stout walking boots and a black jumper slung over his shoulders.

"Are you ready, have you done side-along apparition before?"

She nodded and tried to suppress a shiver when he pulled her into his arms. With a soft _plop_ they vanished and after the usual nauseous feeling of disorientation she found herself in a solitary spot in the woods higher up in the mountains. He released her and she shuddered.

"I don't like apparition very much," she explained in response to his enquiring eyebrow and followed him down a small rocky path towards the entrance of the building.

There were quite a few visitors around. Severus pushed the old wooden door open. Inside there were a ticket counter and a small shop. The woman behind the counter greeted Severus enthusiastically with the customary kisses and a torrent of rapid French, both of which he answered fluently, ignoring Alexandra's open-mouthed stare. She could only follow parts of the conversation, but she understood that as Severus' friend she would not have to pay the entrance fee, an offer she declined vehemently, until the lady shrugged and accepted her money.

"No obligations to former Death Eaters, is it?" Snape said sarcastically as he held open the door to the cloisters.

"No obligations to anybody," she answered coldly and stepped over the threshold.

He laughed softly and directed her attention to the monastery's famous stone masonry at the top of the pillars. He explained the strange apocalyptical carvings to her and pointed out every detail, making other English speaking visitors gather round to listen. He must have spent hours examining the figures and reading about them. His cold and sarcastic behaviour was gone. She listened attentively, forgetting her anger and disappointment, enjoying his presence, his voice and his enthusiasm. When there was nothing left to see, they climbed the narrow stairs to a small balcony outside the highest tower. It provided a splendid view over the mountains. They stood and watched. It was peaceful up here, and quiet, the other tourists did not seem keen on climbing the steep steps.

"It's my favourite spot up here," he finally remarked quietly. "There's powerful ancient magic in these mountains, can you feel it?"

She started slightly, then shook her head, "I'm a Squib, I can't feel magic," she said simply.

He looked at her and grimaced. "Sorry, this was stupid of me, I forgot."

Again they stood without speaking. She cast sidelong glances at him. He seemed at peace here and after a while peace was what she felt, too. An overwhelming sensation of peace and contentedness. There was no need for talking, the silence was part of the scenery, of the sinking sun and the fading light, it was not embarrassing. She was comfortable in his presence here high up in the mountains…

Reluctantly she remembered the bus she intended to take back to the village and glanced at her watch..

"I must go."

He started and looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead he just nodded and led her down the stairs and out of the building. They went down the uneven footpath to the bus stop in silence; soon she would be on the bus and would never see him again. So she had found him in the end, but he certainly wouldn't invite her back. He was not interested in company, he was not interested in her. Over the past two years she had succumbed to illusions, imagined a relationship that had never existed. What a fool she was!

She didn't watch the path in front of her, her foot slipped on a loose stone, she lost her balance, felt a sharp stab of pain in her ankle and fell.

"Oh, shit!" she exclaimed, tears in her eyes, struggling to get up.

Snape took her arm and helped her stand. She couldn't use her right foot, her trousers were torn at the knees, her knees and her right hand were grimy with dirt and blood. She hated the tears of pain and shame that were running down her face, but was unable to stop them.

"Merlin! Get a grip, woman, you're still alive", Snape said mockingly. Alexandra squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth to stop the crying. Oh, how she hated him. She wanted to leave, never see him again. And then she realized she couldn't. She couldn't walk and she had missed her bus anyway.

"Oh shit, damn fucking shit!" she whispered, wiping her face with her arm, smearing it with blood and dirt.

"I agree wholeheartedly, Ms Moody, but you'd better take this."

He handed her a handkerchief.

"Take it, it's harmless, not poisoned or anything", he added impatiently when she hesitated. Grudgingly she took the handkerchief and tried to clean her face. What a sight she was! What was she going to do now?

"Come back with me, I'm going to have a look at that foot", he said as if he had read her thoughts. She looked up and met his eyes. He shrugged and with a lopsided smile bent down to pick her up and carried her to a solitary spot a short way into the forest. From there they disapparated.

_T__hanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these inspiring characters_


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks to all the wonderful people who sent so many encouraging reviews for the last chapter. Work prevents me from updating more frequently, but here is the next chapter at last._

Chapter Ten: Healing 

It was already getting dark when they reached the cottage. He had renewed his wards upon leaving, making apparition into the property itself impossible. So they materialized just outside the garden gate and Snape had to carry his injured, unexpected guest all the way to the cottage. Alexandra steadied herself with her arms around his neck, self-consciously aware of the sensations the closeness of his body and the security his arms created in her.

The fading light had enhanced the smells and the sounds of the garden, had softened the outlines of the house. There was a peaceful, unearthly, enchanted beauty about the place. Alexandra couldn't hold back her expressions of wonder and delight, Snape, however, only snorted derisively and informed her curtly that it was not much of a house, just a bedroom, a tiny bathroom and a living area with the kitchen. There were stairs leading to a second story, but the room up there still needed refurbishment.

He opened the front door with a spell of his wand and carried her across the threshold;

with a grunt he deposited her in an armchair, panting from carrying her, arching and massaging his back.

Alexandra reacted with a reproachful frown.

"I'm certainly not that heavy, Mr Snape", she said with mocking indignation.

He only shot her a withering look and turned his attention towards her shoes.

Alexandra held her breath when he pulled off the one on her injured foot, but he acted so gently that the sharp pain she had expected did not come. Her ankle turned out to be swollen and blue. He examined it carefully, feeling the swelling with competent fingers, carefully moving the foot in all directions. In the end he let out a sigh of relief. "I don't think it's broken, which is good, because my healing abilities are very basic. But I can handle sprains and bruises."

He studied her thoughtfully, making her uncomfortably aware of her tear-stained, dirty face.

"Would you like a wash while I fetch everything?"

She nodded gratefully. He picked her up again and carried her to the bathroom, opened the door and moved his wand around.

"It works with magic", he explained. "Now you can use the taps and there will be hot water. Towels are in the cupboard. Can you manage?"

This made it her turn to use the withering look.

He grinned ironically.

"Right. Call me when you're finished."

With this he closed the door and left her alone. Alexandra looked into the small mirror and groaned. Her face was blotchy and smeared with dirt and blood, her hair a tangled mess. Balancing on one foot she took off her torn trousers and started to wash her hands and her face, then carefully removed the dirt and dried blood from her knees. Finally she ran her fingers through her hair. Looking into the mirror again, she sighed and shrugged. Certainly not fit for a beauty contest, but better than before. She opened the door and called his name.

Snape came at once, carried her back to the armchair and lifted her injured foot on another chair in front of her. Then he opened a large glass jar and applied some greenish salve to the swollen ankle, covered it with a white cloth and bandaged it to keep everything in place. Immediately the pain lessened. He smiled at her sigh of relief, selecting another, smaller jar and after dabbing some yellow salve on the wounds on her knees and her hand, bandaged them as well.

"These will have healed by tomorrow", he said, gathering his jars and bandages, "the foot is going to take a day or two longer if you keep it rested."

She sat bold upright, clasping the armrests of the chair. "But –".

He raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Yes, Ms Moody?"

"I must go back to my hotel, I must be able to walk!" she exclaimed vehemently.

He shrugged. "I'm afraid that's not possible. A healer could do it, of course, but as there is no healer around, we have to make do with my remedies. You'll have to stay here for a day or two, I'm afraid. Are you hungry?"

Hungry? The question made her aware of the mouth-watering smell of food in the room and she forgot about her ambulatory problems for a moment. Her stomach rumbled and he had his answer.

"Five minutes", he announced and went to the kitchen area. Alexandra tried to calm down and order her thoughts. So she would have to stay here – in his house, with him! She didn't want this, he didn't want this – these were bright prospects for the following days! She looked around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. There was very little furniture in the room, just the table, two chairs, the kitchen cupboard and the threadbare armchair next to a bookshelf and a small coffee-table. The walls were whitewashed and bare, yet it looked comfortable and very much like home in the light of the numerous candles he had lit.

Snape returned to her with a tray containing a plate of vegetable soup and some bread and a glass of red wine.

"I wasn't expecting visitors, so this is all I can offer you," he said curtly. "Leftovers from yesterday actually."

He put down the tray on her lap, then seated himself with his own plate at the kitchen table. He raised his glass, "To our meeting again, Ms Moody", he said with a small smile.

She glared at him. "Stop being sarcastic."

His mouth twitched. "I'm not. Actually, I've had a very pleasant afternoon indeed," he replied quietly.

She stared at him in surprise. "Really?" and after an embarrassed pause added, "eh, absolutely, yes, so had I."

They kept looking at each other for a while, until Snape broke the contact.

"The soup is getting cold."

He started eating. Alexandra followed his example, she was ravenous and the soup was really good. She finished the plate without speaking and gratefully accepted a second helping.

"How did you end up here in this cottage?" she asked after mopping up the last drops of soup with the bread.

He told her that he had come across the house during a potions conference in Carcassonne years ago and had liked it so much that he had bought it right away. It had been practically a ruin and therefore cheap. He had not found time to begin restoration then, and when he had returned after his release, the first months had been very hard: He had been camping inside the walls under the leaking roof with his few possessions brought over from England, repairing the roof and then the small outbuildings, setting up a lab where he could work on the potions and salves he sold for an income. It had taken nearly all of the two years to complete the repairs.

"Did you do it all alone?" Alexandra asked curiously, playing with the stem of her wine glass.

"Yes, I did. I learned quite a bit about building in Azkaban."

Smiling wryly, he went on: "I wanted to be alone, I've never been much of a social man."

He offered her more wine and when she declined poured himself another glass.

"What about the lady at the monastery?"

He chuckled. "Oh yes, well, you could call her a friend, I suppose. I go there often and they sell my products. There's a lot to learn about the fascinating historical magic of these mountains and as she is an amateur historian and knows everything about this region, we've had many interesting talks. As for other contacts - I am acquainted with some people, of course, shop-owners mostly. But that's all. I prefer being on my own."

He lifted the glass and watched the red liquid intensely.

"You can't imagine what freedom and independence mean to me after all those years in Dumbledore's and Voldemort's service, after all those years in prison."

His eyes, still fixed on the glass, had a far-away look.

Alexandra studied him thoughtfully. All at once he seemed drawn and tired, as if the memories were hard to bear.

"But local people know where you live, don't they?"

"Yes, they do," he admitted slowly, "theoretically, that is. But due to a spell I always use they can't tell others, as you've learned during your inquiries. The house is charmed, most people can't see it. And I put up strong wards, of course. They alerted me of your presence today." So much effort just to protect his solitude, Alexandra thought, still watching him. Outwardly there was nothing left of the miserable prisoner she had known, but somehow she felt that he had not overcome his torturous past.

"What is it?" he demanded.

Alexandra came out of her reverie with a start. "Oh, nothing", she muttered, averting her eyes quickly, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks.

Snape got up and busied himself clearing away the dirty dishes and soaking them in the sink. He was confused by this afternoon's events, torn between his desire to remain hidden from the wizarding world and his affection for Alexandra Moody which today had welled up again during their short time together. He felt totally clueless as to further procedure. There she was, right in the middle of his living-room, stuck with him for the next days. Against all odds she had found him, and what was more surprising, she had bothered to look for him in the first place. And that after he had done everything to cover up his tracks, to leave England and everyone who had known him there behind. He had wanted a completely new start in new surroundings, where nobody knew about the Death Eater and the prisoner Severus Snape. And he had tried ever so hard to forget Alexandra Moody and the mysterious attraction she held for him. He had attempted to convince himself that solitude was all he wanted, had repeated to himself over and over again that the only feeling this woman could have for him was pity and that her interest in him was the purely professional one of the journalist. Dumbledore, who still made himself heard via the mirror, had kept telling him what a fool he was…Dumbledore! Snape scrubbed the bottom of the pot with unnecessary violence. He was sure the old headmaster was somehow responsible for this afternoon's events, had created this mess and was enjoying himself immensely watching them dealing with it. What a nuisance this meddlesome old fool was even in death!

Finally there were no dishes left for washing and he realized he would have to face his guest again. He turned and saw that she was asleep in his armchair. Sleep – well, there was another problem. He only had one bed. And his body was getting too old for the sleeping bag and the floor. Snape cursed under his breath and went over to the armchair. He took away the tray and was about to shake her awake, but something made him stop in mid-movement. She looked so peaceful, her features relaxed, her short hair tousled, her bandaged hand limp in her lap. He couldn't help watching her, as he had in fact been watching her surreptitiously all afternoon: Her attentive, eager face when she had listened to his lectures about the masonry, her profile against the background of the sky and the green mountains up on the balcony. Strangely enough he really had enjoyed her company, something he would never have thought possible.

And while he was standing there, hardly daring to breathe for fear of breaking the spell and waking her up, he felt his throat tighten, he shuddered and somewhere inside him a wall crumbled and realization hit him like a bomb. Merlin's holy beard, he loved her, had done so from the moment they'd met in Azkaban. He had known it all along in his subconscious mind, but had been afraid to admit it to himself. He loved her …

Stop it! He scolded himself. This was hopeless, a one-sided affair, she would never love him back, women never did.

He kept standing there, lost in thought, when she stirred and opened her eyes. She stretched her arms and grinned apologetically. "Sorry, I fell asleep. It's been a long day and I'm not used to drinking wine."

"Would you like to go to bed?" he asked, wondering if she would notice how strange and constricted his voice sounded.

"Well, yes, I suppose," she relied, politely stifling a yawn, "have you got a spare one?"

"No, you can take mine," he replied curtly.

"And what about you?"

He shrugged. "Never mind."

"Yes, right, well, thank you for your hospitality." She tried to hide her embarrassment. "I know I'm a nuisance and I promise to get well as soon as possible so that you can get rid of me."

He grunted.

"Bathroom first?" he asked.

"Bathroom first, please."

Gently he picked her up and carried her to the bathroom door. "Wait a minute," he said and set her down. He went into his bedroom and returned with a white t-shirt.

"You can wear this for the night."

"Oh, thank you."

The way she looked at him before she closed the door showed that she had not expected him capable of such thoughtfulness.

Snape sat down in the armchair and tried to read the latest potions magazine. But he was unable to concentrate. Instead of following the instructions for brewing a complicated cure for hay-fever, he was listening to the noises coming from the bathroom, turning the same questions over and over again in his mind, wondering hopelessly how to survive the following days. Never before had he felt like this for a woman. It was ridiculous: There he was, Death Eater, Master Spy, Potions Expert, he had faced torture and death fearlessly, had withstood the Dark Lord's sadistic whims,– but now he was trembling with apprehension when he thought of the woman in his bathroom. Why had she followed him, why was she interested in him? Could it be more than pity? She had seen him at the lowest point in his life, could she really love him?

He was still far from a plausible solution when she called his name. With a frustrated sigh he went over to the bathroom, where she was standing in the open door, clad in his t-shirt and bandages, clutching the door-post for support. Again he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. There he set her down next to the bed. For a moment they remained standing there, very close to each other, feeling each other's warmth, their eyes locked in close contact. Suddenly he felt a shy hand on his chest, a soft, tentative, warm touch, barely noticeable through the thin fabric of the shirt. But this touch was enough to pull down another wall of his fortifications and give her access to his heart.. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he wrapped her into his arms with a low moan, holding her very gently, as if she was something fragile, nervously waiting for a reaction. Would she push him away? Scream with terror? He held his breath.

And then there were her hands on his back, pressing him to her, holding him very close.

"Severus," she said softly, putting so much affection in his name that it made him shudder.

"I don't want to get rid of you," he said in hardly more than a whisper, while at the same time his rational part told him to shut up and let her go, to stop making a fool of himself.

"Sorry?"

"I said, I don't want to get rid of you. Alexandra, I think –"

He took a deep breath. "I think I – I love you."

There, he had pronounced it. What would she do now? At least in her present state she was unable to run from the room screaming.

"You have a funny way of showing it," Alexandra said dryly, looking up at him, shaking her head. "You very nearly managed to drive me away this afternoon in your garden".

"I'm sorry," he answered, "It's a habit I find very hard to get rid off."

She looked at him enquiringly.

"Hurting people to keep them at a distance," he explained with a wry smile, "hurting people in order not to be hurt by them."

Slowly she put her arms around him again, resting her head on his shoulder. He drew her close.

"Are you sure, Alexandra?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Yes, Severus, quite sure."

"Are you sure, this isn't only a morbid fascination with the criminal, with the outcast?"

"Quite sure."

"Pity for the antisocial loner?"

"Severus, stop it."

"Too much French wine impairing your mental capacities?"

"My mental capacities are fully functioning and are telling me that I love you."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I can't give you a reason, it's not rational. But it has always been there, right from our first meeting. As they say: Love at first sight."

"And a pretty sight I must have been," he remarked bitterly.

"You were a grim sight indeed, but I liked you all the same," she replied simply and hugged him still closer.

They remained in the embrace for a long time, then Severus remembered her injuries, released her gently and stepped back.

"You are tired, you need rest," he said.

"What about you?" she demanded.

"I'm going to fetch my sleeping bag and sleep on the floor," he answered.

"No, you're not," she replied, casting an appraising look at the bed. "Isn't this what they call a 'grand lie' over here? There's enough room for both of us. I mean, if you don't mind sharing your bed with someone wearing nearly as many bandages as a mummy."

"You're injured, you need your rest," he insisted stubbornly.

She looked at him gravely. "I need you, Severus."

He stared at her incredulously for a moment, breathing very hard, at a loss for words. In the end he just nodded. He went to the bathroom and when he returned in his nightshirt, he climbed into the bed next to her.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing the wonderful characters._


	11. Chapter 11

_Dear reviewers, once again thank you very much for going to the trouble of writing your opinion on the progress of this story. Those of you who believe that the events of the previous chapter make Severus into a happy, sociable, untroubled man over night, read on …_

**Chapter Eleven: The Morning After**

Alexandra was uncomfortable and cold. She had to do something about it, she had to wake up and retrieve the blanket. Turning over with a sigh she collided with something, something that grunted, stirred and then continued uttering soft snoring noises. Where was she? Who was she sharing her bed with? And why, for Heaven's sake, was she not wearing anything? She never slept without … Slowly her mind became awake and she remembered what had happened the previous night: Severus. It was him in the bed next to her, it was his house and his bed and his blanket, but she needed a share of it. She gave the fabric a tentative pull, but to no avail: The man was totally wrapped in it. She nudged him gently.

"Severus", she whispered, "I'm cold, I need a bit of the blanket."

Nothing, except a new rhythm to the snoring.

The next nudge became more insistent.

"Severus, please."

Now the snoring stopped, he grunted, turned over, put out an arm and drew her towards him, at the same time disentangling himself from the blanket and spreading it over both of them. Alexandra settled in his embrace, placing her cold feet next to his warm legs and letting her thoughts drift to the night before:

He had returned from the bathroom and, extinguishing the candles, had joined her in the bed. Putting as much empty space between them as the blanket would allow, he had settled down at the far side of the mattress with his back to her. Alexandra had waited for several minutes, staring at the back of his head, her eyes getting accustomed to the twilight of the room, but he had neither changed his position nor acknowledged her presence in any way. With an impatient sigh she had put out a hand to touch his shoulder.

"Severus," she had whispered, "hold me."

He had stiffened immediately, then had turned over and even in the dim light coming in through the uncurtained window his disapproving frown had been clearly discernable.

"Your ankle is injured."

"I don't need my ankle for what I would like to do," she had replied with a soft laugh. This had made him sit up and look at her for a long time, neither of them saying anything, his breathing very loud even against the noise of the cicadas outside the open bedroom window. Then, all of a sudden, he had bent down and started kissing her. Shyly and hesitatingly at first, as if waiting for signs of displeasure and rejection. When there hadn't been any, when he had felt her respond, his caresses had become more confident and competent, evoking an almost painful pleasure and a longing Alexandra had never experienced for a man before. Somewhere in the process nightshirt and t-shirt had been discarded. And then there had been nothing but longing and love and finally fulfilment and exhausted, satisfied sleep…

Alexandra felt Severus stir beside her and then his lips were on her neck and on her face, working their way from her collar-bone to her mouth inch by inch. She groaned, feeling passion rise again, and responded to his kisses. She had been married for nearly eight years, but this strong reaction of her body was totally new to her. She turned over and buried her hands in his hair, fervently answering his kisses and letting herself fall into the sea of utter bliss for another time…

The sun was high when she woke again and found herself alone in the bed. She heard the clatter of plates from the kitchen and there was a strong smell of coffee. Yawning and stretching she sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the rumpled

t-shirt. Her knees and her ankle felt much better, perhaps she would even be able to walk a few steps. Carefully she stood and, supporting herself on the furniture and the wall, limped the short way to the door, following the smell and the noise. Severus was preparing breakfast, rummaging in the cupboard; he had already been to the village, there were croissants, fresh bread and a newspaper on the table.

"Good morning", she said to his back, holding on to the doorpost. Startled he swivelled round and scowled at her.

"You mustn't use that foot! Sit down at once, let me have a look."

With four long strides he had crossed the room, helped her to a kitchen chair and rested the leg on another one.

"Remove the bandages while I get my things," he commanded and went over to the cupboard. Alexandra unwrapped the bandages. The wounds on her knees and hand had healed completely, only the slightly darker pink of the skin telling of the abrasions of the day before. Her ankle was nearly back to its normal size, its colour yellowish green instead of blue.

"This looks good," Severus stated, coming towards her with his jars, "but still you should be careful."

He applied the greenish salve once more and bandaged the foot again. Then he handed her a stout walking stick.

"If you insist on walking around, at least take this", he said with an ironic twitch of his eyebrow.

"Breakfast is ready, and I've repaired your clothes and cleaned them."

"Thank you," she answered, "thank you for everything."

He looked at her with a strange expression in his eyes. Amusement? Wonder? Affection? Curiosity? She couldn't tell and decided to simply emphasize her gratitude with a smile.

"I'd like to go to the bathroom first."

She picked up the bundle of clothes and with the help of the walking stick limped to the door. Fifteen minutes later she returned, fully dressed, and joined him at the kitchen table.

He was half-hidden behind the newspaper, reading-glasses perched on his nose, an almost empty cup of black coffee and a half-eaten croissant before him. He made a sweeping gesture with his free hand which Alexandra interpreted as 'help yourself'. Not a very talkative man at breakfast, she thought, sat down and started reading the back of his paper.

"Do you apparate to the baker's?" she eventually tried to start a conversation halfway through her first croissant, after she had scanned the page and found the news uninteresting. He chuckled and put the paper down.

"Yes, of course. There's a quiet spot just where the road crosses the river. It's very convenient. I go there every other day and have earned myself a reputation of being a very keen walker."

"I must contact the hotel. They may be wondering about my whereabouts by now. Do you know if I can phone from here? I have a mobile."

Phone and then what? Go back there, pay for the room, fetch the luggage and return? Go back and stay there for the remainder of the holidays, with a mutual promise of staying in touch? Go back there and never see him again? Alexandra looked up and met his eyes. He was studying her over the rim of his coffee cup, his expression unreadable. His hand trembled slightly. He cleared his throat.

"Alexandra, I don't want you to believe that last night leaves you with any obligations."

When her eyes widened in disbelief, he directed his gaze back to the front page of the paper on the table.

"Sorry?"

"I don't want you to think …"

So he wanted to get rid of her after all. Very well…

"Can you apparate me to the village so that I can take the bus to Perpignan tomorrow? I don't think I'll be able to walk all the way to the bus stop with this foot."

She hoped that her voice had not sounded as hurt and disappointed as she felt.

She didn't look up, but she could feel his gaze.

"We could apparate to Perpignan directly."

She shrugged, still not looking up. It would be all the same to her.

Then he reached across the table and took her hand.

"Alexandra, I just wanted to make sure that… Oh, Merlin, I don't know how to express it…"

When she didn't react, his grip on her hand increased as if he was drowning and desperately in need of rescue.

"Alexandra, look at me, for Merlin's sake!" he cried.

Slowly she complied. His eyes were black and intense and full of a strange mixture of hope, despair and misery.

"We could apparate to Perpignan directly and fetch your luggage, you may want your clothes if you stay here longer, my supply of spare t-shirts is limited," he said very quickly and almost inaudibly.

Alexandra's mouth fell open.

"You are free to say 'no', if you don't like the idea."

"No! I mean, yes, I would like to fetch my luggage," she breathed, a heavy load taken from her heart, "and I'd really like to stay with you for the rest of my holidays, if you'd have me.

I was so afraid that you had changed your mind and wanted to get rid of me."

He let out a sigh of relief.

"Of course I'd have you. I just wondered, well, sometimes the rash decisions taken in the darkness of the night seem foolish in broad daylight… "

"It wasn't a foolish decision and it wasn't rash, either. I've had two years to think about it. When I told you I loved you, I really meant it", she interrupted him softly, "

He squeezed her hand and finally allowed himself a happy smile that took years off his face.

"I'll take the wards down so that your phone works. We can go to your hotel tomorrow. Are you sure you are up to another dose of apparition?"

Alexandra shrugged.

"That's one of the disadvantages of loving a wizard, I suppose", she sighed with a happy smile.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these wonderful characters_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Perpignan Market**

They apparated to a quiet little park near the city centre and Severus walked her to the hotel. He said that he had some purchases to make in the neighbourhood and would be back in about one hour's time. So Alexandra went to her room, took a shower and changed out of her walking attire and into a summer dress. Then she packed her things and went down to the reception to pay her bill, telling the man behind the counter something vague about family matters and having to leave immediately. She took her suitcase outside, where Severus was already waiting for her, greeting her more feminine appearance with an appreciating smile.

"Shall we have coffee somewhere?" he asked.

Alexandra looked at her heavy suitcase and sighed.

"That's no problem," Severus said.

He took the suitcase from her and led her around the corner to a deserted alley, where he put it down and pointed his wand at it, making it shrink until it was reduced to the size of a purse. He handed it to her.

"Magic comes in handy from time to time."

He grinned, enjoying her surprise. Then he offered her his arm and steered her through the maze of small streets to the modern city centre.

He was happy. For the first time in his two years of freedom he was truly happy. He had tried to overcome his past, he could work himself into exhaustion and forget about it during daytime, but whenever he rested and when sleep eluded him at night everything would come back with a vengeance. In contact with other people he could never free himself of the sensation that somehow his past was discernable on his face or in his eyes or in his demeanour, and that they would turn away in horror eventually. That and his life-long distrust of people, his deeply-ingrained fear of being made fun of or of being betrayed were the reasons why he tried to keep away from human company as much as possible.

And now a part of his infamous past had reappeared; a woman who knew about his character, his crimes and about his miserable state in prison had come looking for him and had declared her affection for him. And, as the two days of their being together had shown and what he would never have thought possible before, he felt comfortable with her, accepted and at home. Never before had he experienced this with another human being, with the exception of Dumbledore perhaps. But with Alexandra it was even more: There was this need to touch her, to feel her skin, to smell her hair, to explore her body with his hands and with his lips, to protect her, to hold her and never let her go – he had fallen, there was no denying it, head over heels in love with her.

So he had shoved his doubts and his fears into a far-away compartment of his mind, resolutely determined to keep them locked away while she was with him. Perchance she could even make him lose the key…

Her hand in his now, warm and soft, her body brushing against his as they walked down the narrow lanes, it felt so good. He was happy.

They found a free table on the pavement in front of a café and he ordered two coffees. Then they were sitting side by side, her pristine red linen dress and matching sandals a striking contrast to the black shirt he was wearing with his jeans today. His arm was around her shoulders, her hand resting on his thigh, they were watching the passing pedestrians and the car drivers in pursuit of a free parking space. For the first time in two years, for the first time in his life actually, Severus felt as if he really belonged to human society. They were an ordinary middle-aged couple, deeply in love with each other. He sighed with contentedness as she rested her head on his shoulder.

She turned her head a bit and looked up at him enquiringly.

His smile was self-conscious, his voice hesitant and low. "I love you, Alexandra."

She smiled back, happily, reassuringly.

"I love you, too, Severus."

Life was perfect.

Later they went to see Mme Derusseau, who had requested a new supply of salves. They were approaching the market and could already see her stall, when Severus suddenly stopped and pulled Alexandra behind a rack full of long, brightly-coloured skirts.

"What is it?" she asked nonplussed. His face was hard, there was a haunted look in his eyes.

"Ministry officials", he hissed.

"Our Ministry?"

"Yes, our Ministry. Look! Only they would dress in such a tasteless and incongruous way. Are you sure you told nobody about me?"

She was hurt by his suspicion.

"What do you think of me? Of course I'm sure", she replied curtly.

They watched as the two men, one wearing a long leather coat and a panama hat, the other one defying the warm weather in brown corduroy trousers and a thick blue sweater, were having a heated argument with the stall owner in what sounded like a mixture of bad French and simplified, angry English. A small crowd of spectators had gathered round the stall to listen. In the end a very furious Mme Derusseau threatened to call the police and picked up her mobile. The two men gave up and left, while the crowd slowly dispersed.

"Shit", Severus muttered as they realized that the two wizards were coming their way. He pulled Alexandra further back into the porch of the church near by and started kissing her passionately, at the same time watching the market from the corner of his eyes.

Although she knew that this public display of passion was mainly a tactical move to keep his face hidden, she enjoyed it. Finally he released her.

"They're gone."

"Would it be so bad if they found you?" Alexandra asked, still breathless.

"I don't want to have anything to do with English wizards and least of all with the Ministry", he replied vehemently.

"All they want is the formula for that salve, I think."

"It is my invention, I don't give it away."

"It could help many children if it was produced by a large pharmaceutical company."

He sighed. "The problem is that, apart from a few selected exceptions, giving magic potions to Muggles is illegal, even if they are completely harmless and useful. So the only way for me to help children is to remain anonymous and let people like Mme Derusseau sell it."

"Oh", she said in a small voice, "I didn't know…What a silly law. And can't they make your salve one of the exceptions?"

"Actually, the law isn't silly. It is supposed to protect Muggles from potions of Dark magic. Unfortunately it prevents them from using beneficial potions as well. But that's the law, and applying for an exception means a lot of red tape, much testing and many years of waiting for the permit to be passed through the Ministry institutions."

"Could they sue you for selling the salves to Muggles?"

He snorted and shrugged, then turned to scan the market square and frowned. "I doubt that they have given up. I'm sure they are watching the market. That means I can't go there."

He exhaled in a frustrated way.

"I could go. They don't know me."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. After all, you played a role in my release."

Alexandra looked around the market square thoughtfully. Suddenly she smiled. Next to where they were standing there was a stall selling hats and scarves.

"Wait." She went over to the stall and selected a bright red hat. Back in the porch she put on the hat and added a pair of sun glasses to make the disguise perfect.

"Well?" she looked at him enquiringly.

"That's - acceptable. You have a talent for becoming a secret agent."

His eyes glittered while he pulled something small from his pocket, which, after brief contact with his wand, turned into a bulky backpack. She lifted it and grimaced inwardly at its weight.

"You are going to need some means of identification. Here, take this."

He pulled an intricately wrought silver ring from his finger and gave it to her. Alexandra shouldered the backpack, took the ring and set off towards the stall. She paused at several other displays of goods on her way, ostentatiously looking at whatever was on offer, thereby surreptitiously keeping an eye on the other people until she was sure that nobody was following her. At last she came to Mme Derusseau's. She had slipped the ring on the middle finger of her right hand and by fingering jars of honey and jam, displayed it to the stall owner's view.

" Qu'est-ce ce? Ou est Severus ?" Mme Derousseau asked suspiciously in a voice barely audible.

"He can't come, he's afraid of being shadowed," Alexandra explained in an equally low tone while examining a hand-made candle. "He sends me with the salves."

She put down the backpack in front of her and started shoving it under the trestle table with her foot.

"I don't know you. You are a stranger, why should I trust you." Mme Derousseau's suspicion remained firmly in place. Alexandra removed her sunglasses.

"Mon Dieu - you are the woman who was looking for him!"

"Yes, I found him, by accident", Alexandra explained, picking up another candle, blue and shaped like an elephant.

"I'm his friend. Please, trust me."

They were interrupted by other tourists arriving at the stall, asking if she sold the magic salve and if it cured acne as well. Mme Derousseau pointed out the single small white porcelain jar and when they expressed their intention of buying at least five of them, she cast a pensive look in Alexandra's direction and got an encouraging smile in return. With a shrug she bent down and took some jars out of the backpack, wrapping them for the customers. Alexandra watched the transaction, constantly looking around for strangely dressed ministry spies. The tourists left and Mme Derousseau turned towards Alexandra again.

"I believe you", she said, "I'm going to give you the money."

"Wait, I'll better buy something, in case they are watching. This one." Alexandra handed her one of the smaller candles and then the two women exchanged the money and the carefully wrapped candle was put in a green carrier bag.

"Give him my regards", the Frenchwoman said softly, "tell him all the world is asking for him, it's becoming a nuisance. I revealed nothing, though. And – make him happy, he needs it." She winked and smiled mischievously at Alexandra's perplexed face.

"You've been away for ages", Severus complained when she returned to the porch.

"Well, I thought I'd better be careful", she replied reproachfully and removed her sun glasses.

"I'm sorry. You were very convincing."

He drew her in his arms and kissed her gently on the cheek.

"Shall we go home?"

She looked at him, his face was grave and tense. Somehow the day had lost its glory. She nodded, and they returned to the quiet little park from where they could apparate to the sanctuary of his cottage.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these wonderful characters_


	13. Chapter 13

_Once again: Thank you all for your reviews._

_ Leliha_**  
**

**Chapter Thirteen: ****Qualms ****and**** Nightmares  
**

Severus couldn't find sleep that night. After some futile hours of forcing his body and mind to relax, which only resulted in his getting more and more restless, he got up and went into the living room to sit in the armchair and read for fear of waking Alexandra with his tossing and turning. When his eyelids were beginning to droop at last he returned to bed and slept fitfully, mixing up dream and reality without knowing which was which.

He was back in the market, right in front of Madame Derusseau's stall, staggering under the weight of a huge crate full of his products, when a band of Aurors appeared, overwhelming him, hexing him, destroying every single jar in the crate with fiery spells from their wands, filling the bright and sunny market square with suffocating black fumes, and dragging him away.

Then he was back at Azkaban, in the deepest corridor, where the walls consisted of crudely hewn hard, black rock, glistening with moisture in the torchlight. He was dragged along roughly, through a heavy, iron-studded wooden door and down a steep, slippery staircase and then he was chained to the wall, his wrists, feet, waist and neck firmly encased in iron shackles. Water was coming in through a narrow opening in the wall, splashing over his feet, ice-cold and rising with the tide. Now it was up to his knees, to his waist, there was nothing he could do but stare helplessly ahead as it got higher and higher, covering his chest, his shoulders, his neck… He panicked, tried to fight against the shackles, he cried out – and then there was blackness.

The next thing he realized was that the shackles were gone; he was kneeling before the Dark Lord in his Death Eater robes and mask in a high, vaulted chamber. He was shivering, the multiple layers of black cloth unable protect him from the coldness of the room. In the shadows along the walls of the room other men and women in black were standing silently, watching. He felt their presence rather than seeing them in the gloom. The Dark Lord was angry, pacing in front of him with slow deliberate steps, marking the end of each of his sentences with an angry _soutenou_ and a change of direction.

"I was fond of you, potion maker, I admitted you into our midst despite your dubious origin. I appreciated your keen mind, your hunger for learning and granted you access to rare and valuable knowledge of Dark Magic, I promoted you through the ranks of my followers. And now YOU'RE HEALING MUGGLES WITH YOUR POTIONS, YOU'RE BETRAYING OUR CAUSE!" the fierce high-pitched voice shouted in uncontrolled rage. The towering figure of Voldemort came closer, stopped in front of the cowering man and the volume of his voice went down to a stage whisper.

"I should never have trusted you, you filthy half-blood."

And then the curse came and hit Severus in the chest, making him writhe in agony on the floor, thrashing out and trying to get away from the other Death Eater hands that were grabbing him, trying to get their share in the torture. But the hands were relentless, they held him securely, they stroked his back, they stroked his hair, gently, comfortingly… What was that? Something was wrong! Death Eaters would never comfort him!

"Severus, wake up. It's only a dream." A soft voice speaking to him, repeating his name over and over again.

Confused and terrified he resisted these strange hands, tried to get away from them.

"Severus", the voice repeated, more firmly and insistently now, "wake up. It's me, Alexandra, I don't want to hurt you. You're safe, it's only a dream."

Slowly he became aware of his surroundings. The grey light of early dawn came in through the window, lifting the lurking shadows of the night. There was no stone floor, no vaulted chamber, he was in his bedroom, in his bed, trembling with the aftermaths of his dream, his body drenched in cold sweat. There were neither Aurors nor Death Eaters, only Alexandra's arms wrapped around him, holding and comforting him, rubbing his back gently. It was her soothing voice next to his ear, repeating the same soft consoling sounds over and over again. He struggled to emerge from the images of his nightmares, to gain control over his body and his voice, to arrive in the reality of his bedroom.

"Sorry – I – a dream," he muttered hoarsely, embarrassed about the state he was in, breaking away from her arms, sitting back, taking his sweaty, trembling body out of her reach and avoiding her eyes.

"I'm sorry for being such a nuisance".

She didn't respond. Without looking at her he could sense the compassion in her eyes and it

made him feel even more humiliated and miserable.

She took his hands.

"It's OK, Severus, after all you've been through you're entitled to having nightmares."

Still refusing to meet her eyes, he shook his head. 'Entitled to nightmares' indeed! He was a wizard, able to use powerful magic, he had always been proud of the absolute control he had had over his mind and body. Only after his release from Azkaban had the dreams started and all his efforts to stop them had been futile, even Dreamless Sleep Potion didn't really help. His frustration and anger with himself were increasing with every nightmare he'd had. He was a man, for Merlin's sake, men were supposed to be strong and not to break down with nerves waiting to be consoled by a woman, a mere squib. 'But you need her comfort!' his body screamed. He was shivering with cold now, missing the warmth of her embrace.

"Severus, don't be so hard on yourself. It's alright."

When he didn't react she continued, "Look, in the Muggle world it is commonly known and accepted that being held captive may traumatize a person, people get help from psychologists. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

Her voice was calm, neutral, matter-of-fact, sensible, her hands were warm and reassuring. She was not fussing over him, not treating him like a mentally retarded child, she was just telling him the facts, he could hear no pity in her words.

His breathing was still fast and ragged. After long and silent minutes he raised his head and looked at her, pain and torment in his eye.

"I dreamed I was drowning," he started hesitantly in hardly more than a whisper. "They had this cell in Azkaban which was flooded during high tide. They put you there for punishment, chained to the wall and you never knew how high the water would be and…", his voice broke into a sob and he allowed her to draw him into her arms again. He rested his head on her shoulder.

"It's alright during daytime, I force myself not to think of the past, but in my sleep it doesn't work."

"You've experienced too many atrocities, it's natural."

"Is it?" He tried to snort derisively, but out came only a pitiful little sound.

"Sometimes I feel so – useless for life."

"Don't do anything silly, there's always a solution", Alexandra quoted quietly.

He sat up and stared at her. His mouth quivered, he wanted to laugh - and then the tears came. He didn't want to shed them, he frantically tried to hold them back but didn't succeed.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him until her shoulder was wet and they fell into an exhausted sleep again.

Severus woke with the sun on his face. There was a dull pain at the back of his head and his eyes were sore, and with a moan he remembered the events of the night. So she had witnessed one of his nightmares, had patiently comforted him when he was clinging to her helplessly, sobbing like a baby. Human wreck that he was. And yet she had neither behaved condescendingly nor turned away in horror and disgust, she was still there, a cloud of brown hair next to him on the pillow. Her presence had helped him, he didn't feel the depression that usually came as the aftermaths of his dreams. If only she could stay with him… At once he was overcome with an overwhelming sensation of hope, happiness and affection. Merlin, he loved her – and yet he was still afraid. He was not used to sharing his life with anybody, he had always been alone. He had always hidden his anxiety and vulnerability behind a wall of sarcasm and derision, and he couldn't get rid of the habit. Would she have the tolerance and the stamina to endure his moods or would he drive her away eventually?

His thoughts were interrupted by Alexandra muttering something unintelligible under her breath. She turned without waking, her knee now touching his thigh. At once he felt his body react. No, this wouldn't do. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he got up and went to the bathroom. He splashed plenty of cold water on his face and studied it in the mirror. Pale, gaunt, lined… ugly, old. What did she see in him? There was nothing about his looks that would recommend him to a woman. Alexandra was pretty, not beautiful, but attractive in an average, unassuming way. She could easily find another man…

He leaned heavily on the wash basin, staring into the bleary eyes of his mirrored self.

And yet there had been this strange mutual attraction from the very first moment they had set eyes on each other in the prison room. He couldn't explain it, and as far as he knew she couldn't either. Merlin's beard, how he wished she would stay with him. But could she tolerate his habits, his moods, his nightmares? He had been living like a hermit for the last two years, he had not been renowned for his social skills at Hogwarts and Azkaban had done nothing to enhance them. Could he tolerate another person's habits, even a beloved person's habits, in the long run?

He realized his thoughts were running in circles and cursed. Why was everything so difficult?

He registered a soft buzzing sound. Dumbledore's mirror.

"No, headmaster, not now. I can't put up with your meddling benevolence and your twinkling eyes right now. I don't want your advice. I have to find a way of my own for this", he said aloud, pointing his wand at the buzzing mirror and silencing it; and resolutely left the bathroom for the kitchen, hoping some strong coffee would clear his mind.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these wonderful characters._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: Is There a Future?**

It was the last evening of Alexandra's holidays. They were sitting on the bench in front of the cottage, sipping their postprandial coffees and watching the sun disappear behind the trees. None of them spoke, they were too preoccupied with their own thoughts. Their few days together had passed like a dream. Apart from some apparition trips to shops and markets in the area, the purpose of delivering Severus' products camouflaged by sightseeing and shopping, always on the lookout for potential Ministry spies, they had stayed at the cottage, Severus working in his lab, Alexandra exploring the garden, picking fruit and vegetables, doing some weeding or sitting on the bench, reading or daydreaming.

She felt at home here in this enchanted, secluded place, at home with its unfathomable owner and his complicated personality. He could be cold and sarcastic as well as gentle and sympathetic, insisted on solitude and quiet when working at his cauldrons, yet taking pride in showing and telling her everything about the places they visited and enjoying their playful banter at mealtimes. Meals - much to her surprise Alexandra had learned that although his looks conveyed the impression that Severus existed on potion fumes and the occasional sandwich, he was very partial about his food, devoted as much care to selecting the ingredients for their meals from the shops and from his garden and to cooking them as he did to the brewing of his potions and the mixing together of his salves. He also made sure to have adequate wines to go with the food and that the meals could be enjoyed in leisure. When he became aware of her surprised amusement about these unexpected gourmet qualities, he was offended at first, but then reluctantly told her about Azkaban and confessed that the long years of prison fare had taught him to value and enjoy good food.

And above all there was their love for each other. This strange and inexplicable love that made them desire each other's company, made them want to feel and smell and taste each other, this overwhelming love that survived the inevitable verbal skirmishes, arguments and misunderstandings of two proud and stubbornly independent and headstrong adult individuals. It was present in all their interactions during the days and culminated in the intimacy of the balmy Mediterranean nights.

And tomorrow she would have to return to England, to the noise and the polluted smells of the big city, to her cramped little flat in London, to her desk in a windowless office and to colleagues who still didn't quite respect her as one of their own. She sighed.

"You can come back here whenever you like, whenever you're free", Severus said quietly, as if reacting to her thoughts, nervously tracing the rim of his coffee cup with his forefinger.

She laughed sadly. "I don't think I can do that. It has been …"

"Oh, I see." His voice became colder by several degrees. "I'm sorry that my company has not met your expectations. As I've lived alone all my life, I lack social competence."

He stared straight ahead. Alexandra swallowed an exasperated moan. Oh, wonderful, once again she had stepped on a shell in the minefield of his precarious self-esteem and desperate pride. Bracing herself with a deep breath she started to put things right, willing her voice to sound calm and patient.

"Severus, listen, I enjoyed your company tremendously, I don't expect you to hold hands with me or entertain me with witty stories all the time. What I was going to say when you interrupted me was that I'd really like to come back as often as possible, but, as you very well know, I can't apparate and flights may be cheap nowadays, but I still can't afford them very often."

His shoulders slumped and he didn't reply. Then he turned his head slowly and looked at her, his face a picture of utter misery.

"Of course. I apologize, I've been such a fool."

She gave a little forgiving grunt and put her hand on his. He squeezed it gently, then turned it over and opened it, at the same time pulling something from the breast pocket of his shirt.

"Take this", he said and put a narrow, plain silver ring into her palm. "This is a portkey. It is designed to bring you here whenever you wish to come. It works only for you and only if you want to come here. For the rest of the time it's an ordinary ring."

Alexandra stared at the ring. "I thought portkeys were issued by the Ministry only."

He shrugged and laughed softly. "Officially and legally, yes. But don't expect obedience to the law from a former Death Eater."

She picked up the ring gingerly, turned it between her fingers, examining it closely.

"You can put it on. It's harmless. If you want to use it as a portkey, just transfer it from your right hand to your left."

She slipped it on the ring finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly.

"Is it like an engagement ring?" she couldn't help asking with a mocking undertone and immediately would have liked to take her words back. How silly of her! What would he do now? Get furious? Demand the ring back?

He remained quiet, then shifted slightly in his seat.

"Well," he replied after swallowing hard, "it – well, it certainly binds you to me in a way."

She could not see it in the growing darkness, but she thought he was blushing. He kept staring straight ahead where the lavender shrubs were now barely visible in the fading light. Alexandra smiled with relief and affection, put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you, Severus. Tomorrow I'll take the plane because I've arranged to meet my brother Julius at the airport, but I'm going to return here with the ring whenever I'm free and whenever you want me to come."

And so she did. For the better part of a year Alexandra left London whenever she could and went to Severus' cottage. She loved him and wanted to be with him, time had done nothing to diminish their affection and desire for each other. And yet – the constant travelling was exhausting and Alexandra often caught herself snapping at people just because she was so tired and not able to muster enough patience to get on with the little nuisances of daily life.

This wouldn't work in the long run, but she couldn't think of a different solution. She had to work for a living, she needed her regular job with the _Daily Prophet_, she couldn't afford to work freelance and live in the South of France. Besides, he had never asked her to move in with him permanently. It would have been a problem anyway, because he had no electricity in his cottage. He could do everything by magic, of course, and probably didn't even realize that an important device of modern civilization was missing, but for her a bathroom and a kitchen she couldn't use alone because they worked with magic were useless. She would also need a computer for working and a phone – it was hopeless. Installing electricity would cost money, and she wasn't sure if he had any to spare, only knew that she herself didn't. She could find accommodation of her own, of course, but this again would exceed her financial means. She had never mentioned these difficulties to Severus, as with selling his potions and salves and staying anonymous he still had enough problems of his own.

So Alexandra was at her desk on this rainy Wednesday morning, staring at her computer screen, lost in her gloomy thoughts. She didn't notice an owl landing next to her, until the bird started pecking at her arm. "Ouch!" Alexandra jerked her arm away and looked at the large brown owl. She recognized it, it was one of the family birds. What on earth could they want with her, she barely had contact with the Moody clan any more. Slowly she untied the large envelope and handed the bird a slice of the apple she was eating. The owl nibbled at the piece of fruit, then stretched its wings and flew away, sending the stack of papers on her desk flying all over the floor. Cursing under her breath Alexandra picked them up again before opening the letter and starting to read. It was a short message and she dropped the parchment on the desk after a few seconds, staring at it with unseeing eyes. Her father had died the night before and she was expected to attend the funeral. She looked for the date – damn! She wouldn't be able to spend the weekend with Severus, she had to tell him. Today was Thursday. Sending an owl would have been the quickest way, but as he shunned every contact with the wizarding world, owls were out of the question. He had instructed her to send letters to the post office in the village in cases of emergency, but there had never been the necessity to do so. Alexandra had no idea if a letter would reach him in time, but it was the only thing to do. She took a sheet of paper from the printer and scribbled a few lines, folded it and put it in the envelope. She would take it to the post office in Muggle London during her lunch break.

Severus Snape opened the letter on his way out of the village towards his apparition point. He read the few, hastily written lines, frowned, read them again. So she couldn't come. Family matters – whatever that meant. Had it happened at last, had she met someone else?

He stopped at the small stone bridge and stared into the glittering water. What had he expected? There were dozens of men, both Muggles and wizards, who were much more attractive than Severus Snape, the ugly, antisocial, grumpy hermit. It shouldn't come as a surprise actually, that one of them had become interested in a good-looking woman like Alexandra and wanted to end her loneliness. It had only been a matter of time. There were dozens of men who could offer her love and a comfortable life in England, whereas he would never be able to offer her much. Love, yes, but even there he had always been insecure about his ability to really love a woman. For someone with his past – wasn't a relationship bound to end in disaster?

And now she had left him, he was alone again…

Severus shook himself out of his thoughts and crossed the bridge to reach his apparition point. Would he miss her? Yes! No! No, certainly not! He had been alone all his life, the few months of their relationship didn't count, he could easily return to his old ways.

He concentrated on the apparition process and found himself on the path leading to his cottage. Opening the garden gate he suddenly remembered how he had come upon her on the day she had stumbled upon his property. And suddenly he felt as if his heart would break, realizing that indeed he would miss her, he already did! He loved her! He needed her and didn't want to go back to his isolated existence!

His eyes fell on the cottage and he registered the changed structure of the roof. The alterations he had made – in vain, he wouldn't need them any more.

Completely wrapped in his misery he went down the path to the cottage and unlocked the front door with his wand. There was an untouched bottle of Muggle whisky in the kitchen cupboard. He would take it out and open it, he intended to get severely and methodically drunk…

It was a week before the necessity of buying provisions brought him to the village again. Another letter from Alexandra was waiting for him at the post office. He tore it open at once with nervous fingers and scanned it hastily. It confirmed his suspicions. She wrote that she would visit him at the following weekend. 'There are things we must talk about,' the letter said. This could only have one meaning: She would tell him about another man and that she was going to leave for good. He tore the letter into small pieces and chucked them into the nearest bin. The whisky bottle was empty and Severus wasn't keen on repeating the experience of the terrible hangover that had incapacitated him for two days. So he decided to immerse himself in his work instead and tried not to think about what the weekend would bring.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for the inspiring characters_


	15. Chapter 15

_Thank you very much for all the feedback I'm getting. It's not only all the encouraging reviews of the attentive readers who spot the mistakes I have overlooked, it is also the great number of alert messages which show how many people are interested in my stories. Amazing and absolutely wonderful._

_Leliha_

**Chapter Fifteen: Revelations**

Alexandra arrived late in the afternoon, the portkey landing her in front of the cottage. Severus was nowhere to be seen, which was not unusual as he often couldn't leave his work unattended at the moment of her arrival. So Alexandra at once went into the former stable that served as his laboratory now and found him bent over several simmering cauldrons.

"Severus!"

He straightened up and looked around.

"Alexandra."

He didn't sound overly pleased to see her. There was an embarrassed silence. Was he still angry that she had not been able to come? Why did he look at her in such a peculiar way? He had tied his hair back for working over the hissing and bubbling potions, thus allowing a clear view of his features. Alexandra looked at him more closely. Was it a trick of the light or did he look thinner and more careworn than at her last stay?

"I'm back," she announced with deliberate cheerfulness.

"I can see that," he replied dryly without moving an inch.

Her smile faltered. What was wrong? Although he had never managed to overcome his reluctance to display his affection over-enthusiastically, he always greeted her more warmly than that, usually it was a brief hug and a shy kiss.

Slowly she rounded two cauldrons filled with a lazily bubbling creamy liquid to get closer to him.

"Severus, I…"

"This is going to take about half an hour," he interrupted her curtly, pointing at the cauldrons. "You'd best wait outside."

This was clearly an order and not a polite request.

"Oh – oh yes, right. See you then."

She turned and left the building, utterly bewildered. Why had he thrown her out? She had stayed with him and watched his work before. Why was he in such a bad mood? What had happened? Had she done anything wrong?

Hurt and confused she picked up her bag and went over to the bench to wait for him. Dark clouds had appeared over the trees in the western sky, moving quickly, obscuring the sun and the blue sky. There was going to be a thunderstorm soon. Alexandra tried the front door of the cottage. Locked. Great, so she could only hope for Severus to come out of his lair before the downpour would start.

He emerged from the lab rather less than thirty minutes later, carefully locking the door behind him.

The sky was now completely dark, faint rolls of thunder could be heard in the distance.

She got up when he approached the bench. He stopped in front of her, his face hard and unreadable. They remained standing, watching each other.

"Why don't you get it over and done with and leave;" he demanded harshly.

"Excuse me?"

"You wanted to talk things over. What are you waiting for? Go ahead. The sooner we get it done with, the sooner you can go back."

"Severus, what are you talking about?"

Another roll of thunder, louder this time and closer to them.

"Your letters…"

"Yes?"

"You wrote that we would have to talk…"

"Yes?"

"What you described as 'family matters'…"

The wind freshened, tearing at his shirt, making it billow.

"Were exactly that – my father died."

"Oh."

Thunder, lightning, strong gusts of wind sending sand and small leaves swirling in the air.

He swallowed hard, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, lifted his hands in a helpless, pathetic gesture of despair. He looked completely taken aback, devastated, shocked…

"What did you think it was, Severus?" she asked carefully, a vague suspicion slowly dawning on her. All these hints about leaving… Had he really thought she wanted to dump him? But why?

More thunder and lightning, somewhere at the back of the cottage a loose shutter banged against the wall.

He studied his feet. He always wore a pair of ancient, well-worn, sturdy boots for working at the cauldrons. The original colour had turned into a stained greyish hue, the laces were long gone.

"I thought…", he bit his lip, "I thought you had met someone else."

"You – what?" Speechless with disbelief she glared at him in exasperation.

Thunder, lightning and first thick, slow drops of rain. Neither of them heeded the weather.

"What on earth gave you this idea?"

Still without meeting her eyes, he shrugged and shook his head helplessly, then covered his face with his hand. She registered the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He was absolutely shattered. Her anger evaporated. He looked so miserable, shoulders hunched, wet from the rain, windswept and with absolutely no idea of how to get out of this mess created once again by his low self-esteem and blasted insecurity concerning human relations. The situation was so absurd that she felt the strong desire to laugh. But this certainly wouldn't do.

Carefully controlling herself she started an attempt to put things right.

"The opposite is true, Severus. My father left me some money, I can give up my regular job and work freelance. Then I don't have to live in London and if…"

A deafening roll of thunder made them jump. The rainfall increased, soaking them.

He still didn't heed the rain, remained rooted to the spot, but he had raised his head and stared at her.

"Come."

Suddenly he grabbed her hand and made for the door, pulling her with him. She barely had enough time to pick up her bag. Inside the cottage it was dark and strangely silent after the raging storm outside. Alexandra smoothed back her wet hair and shivered. They were both thoroughly wet now, however, he didn't seem to notice this discomfort, but took her hand and guided it towards the wall next to the door jamb. She could feel something smooth and rectangular under her fingers - a light switch? Without thinking she pressed it and a lamp in the kitchen area came on. It took her some seconds to understand the meaning of this everyday action. Electricity.

She looked at Severus, who was watching her expectantly.

"What – why…?"

He didn't answer, but with another 'come' ushered her to the far corner of the living room. There, on his solid old desk, side by side with his well-thumbed potion books and hand-written notes, his ink-bottle and his collection of quills, were a laptop and a telephone.

Alexandra looked from the desk to Severus and back again, completely dumbstruck and lost for words.

"You'll need these if you want to work from home."

His voice was low and neutral, but she could feel the tension behind it.

Home. He wanted her to live here! Her mind was unable to completely grasp this idea, she remained standing there, rooted to the spot, staring at the desk.

Outside the thunderstorm had reached its peak. Gusts of rain were beating at the windows.

"You've never dropped a hint that you knew about my problems with the lack of electricity," she finally managed to say.

"You've never said anything either, never asked me to have it installed."

"Well, I…When did you do this? And how does it work in this remote place?"

"A week before your first letter arrived. And it's solar energy. They put these panels on the roof."

"Why didn't you tell me about your plans?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise. And perhaps – perhaps I somewhat wanted to manipulate your decision to move here by creating a fait accompli."

He tried a lopsided smile.

"And when you got my letter you thought… O, Severus, what a mess! We are a pair of dunderheads, aren't we?"

"I certainly am, one of the biggest dunderheads alive."

Another silence, they were listening to the storm outside. Then, very softly, Severus continued.

"Then you want to live here?"

"Yes, by all means."

"With me?"

"Yes, of course."

He wrapped her in his arms, holding her very tight.

Outside the rain and the wind abated, the bolts of thunder and lightning becoming less frequent.

Reluctantly he released her.

"You're soaked through."

She laughed.

"So are you."

"We should get out of these clothes."

"Yes, Severus, absolutely.

Quickly she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his shoulders. Then she removed her own t-shirt. When she reached for her bra, he stopped her, picked her up and carried her to the bed, before dealing with the rest of their clothes and proceeding to warm her body with his intense caresses and passionate kisses.

Later they were lying side by side, warm, satisfied, exhausted; outside the clouds had dispersed, the evening sun was shining, making the shrubs and trees in front of the window glitter like an enormous chandelier.

Lazily he traced the outlines of her stomach with his fingers.

"Let's celebrate, shall we? There's a small restaurant near Narbonne overlooking the salt lakes at the coast. The food is excellent. The owner is Yvonne's cousin."

"Yvonne?" she asked suspiciously.

"Yvonne from the monastery."

"Oh, I see."

"Would you like to go there?"

"I'd love to.

"I'll phone them and book a table."

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for creating these wonderful characters._


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen: Revelations**

"This was the most delicious meal I've ever eaten", Alexandra said and put down her spoon with a deep sigh of satisfaction, glad about the fact that she had donned a skirt with an elastic waistband for the occasion.

He had already finished his dessert some time ago and watched her affectionately.

"So you liked it here?"

"Oh, yes, tremendously, thank you, Severus."

As Severus had promised the food had been excellent and the small restaurant, situated in a picturesque hillside village next to one of the coastal salt lakes, its veranda providing a splendid view over the lake in the late evening light and now, as darkness fell, of the twinkling city lights of Narbonne and its suburbs, matched the quality of the food in terms of atmosphere and service.

"Shall we have coffee then?" he asked with a smile that by now she recognized as a symptom of his happiness.

She nodded and he signalled to the waiter who arrived at once. But instead of taking their orders he told them that the patrons at the table in the far corner of the room were inviting them to join their party for coffee.

Alexandra frowned. "What's that all about? Do you know anybody here?"

Severus' eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who are they?"

"Je ne sais pas," the waiter said with an uncomfortable shrug and added that they gave the impression of being personages of great influence and that they had really been insistent on this invitation. He looked quite ill at ease and did all but implore them to join the table in the corner.

Severus let out a deep breath.

"Oh, very well, lets indulge them," he said roughly and got up.

The waiter smiled nervously and added that their bill had also been taken care of by these patrons.

Severus raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Carefully they wound their way between the tables, the waiter taking the lead.

They arrived at a large, round table in the corner; four people were seated there, one of them was a woman, one was sitting back, his face in the shadows.

A sandy haired, heavily built man with a large moustache got up to greet them.

"Mr Snape! Nice to meet you at last. And Ms Moody, isn't it?"

Alexandra nodded. They shook hands.

"I'm Douglas Dribblebanks from the British Ministry of Magic, Health Department. Let me introduce my friends here. This", he indicated the petite, perfectly groomed woman on his right, "is Madame Millefoux, my French counterpart."

The woman rose to shake hands. Dribblebanks beamed at everybody and continued.

"This is Henry Jenni, head of _Les__Potions Géantes_ the famous British-French-Swiss manufacturer of magical potions and Muggle medicines."

Another round of handshakes.

"And I understand that you already are acquainted with our most gracious friend Lucius Malfoy."

Alexandra gasped as the fourth member of the party leaned forward and revealed his pale, pointed face and sleek white hair. Severus showed no visible reaction, but Alexandra could feel him stiffen next to her.

Malfoy inclined his head gracefully.

"Good evening, Severus, old friend. Good evening, Ms Moody. What a pleasure to meet you again," he drawled.

He didn't get up. No handshakes this time. Alexandra clenched her fists. She would have liked to wipe the supercilious smile from Malfoy's face. What was he doing here? He should be in Azkaban.

Severus gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

"Lucius," he said coldly.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Well, why don't you take a seat?" Dribblebanks exclaimed and they complied.

"Mr Snape, the purpose of our little meeting here, now that we have finally managed to find you thanks to the generous assistance of Mr Malfoy, is that we would like to make you an offer. We know that you are the inventor and the producer of this amazing salve that can cure skin conditions hitherto deemed incurable. As you can probably guess, we had the salve analysed by our most famous experts, and whereas they were perfectly able to come up with a complete list of ingredients, they failed to determine the correct method of mixing them together."

Here he cast a brief glance at Henry Jenni, who blushed slightly and wouldn't meet his eye.

"Therefore, as an important manufacturer of potions, _Les__Potions Géantes_ would like to buy your formula so that with industrial production and good marketing opportunities the salve can be made available to a large numberof sufferers."

"What makes you think I'd want to do that?"

Severus was reclining in his chair, the tips of his fingers put together, looking absolutely unimpressed.

"Eh…" Dribblebanks seemed taken aback.

"Alors, your producing this magical salve and selling it to Muggles is illegal, Mr Snape," Madame Millefoux chimed in. "If you continue doing this without ministerial permission we will fine you, the fine is very high and if you can't pay…" She shrugged and smiled maliciously.

"We have the means and the connections to procure a certificate of exemption from the Ministries without delay, Mr Snape. You haven't," Mr Jenni stated bluntly.

They all looked at Severus, snug, self-satisfied smiles on their faces.

Alexandra fidgeted in her chair, watching him anxiously, and saw the muscles of his jaw clench slightly.

"Very well, I can see your point. How long do I have to reach a decision?" he asked.

"We would think it best if we could be assured of your co-operation before parting tonight," Madame Millefoux said silkly.

"It's a far-reaching decision", Severus protested, "I'd like to think about it, to talk it over with – my future wife."

He cast a quick, side-long look at Alexandra, who stifled a gasp.

"Well," Dribblebanks looked around the table for approval, "I think we can grant you an hour. We'll wait for you here."

Severus gave a brief nod and got up. Alexandra followed suit.

"Come!" He took her arm and led her out of the restaurant, ignoring the curious glances of the other guests and the waiters.

They went through the narrow streets without speaking until they reached the very top of the hill, where a weather-beaten bench stood next to the old church. Alexandra, slightly out of breath, sat down, while Severus remained standing, his back to her, looking at the lights in the distance.

"Severus, what you've just said…"

"Which bit?"

"The bit about your future wife."

"Oh, that. Well…"

"You could have asked me before announcing it to these people. I think that's the way it usually is done and it's called proposal," she said, accusing his back.

He turned and sat down next to her, his face grave.

"I'm sorry. I intended to ask you with the coffee, but then…." He trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "Obviously I can't get anything right in these matters."

"Oh, Severus, stop it."

He looked at her with a sad smile.

"So - would you like to marry me?"

"Yes, Severus, with all my heart."

She put her arm through his, snuggling up to him.

He sighed.

"What am I going to do with their offer?"

"Accept it, of course."

He looked at her sceptically. "Of course? Honestly, I don't think so."

"Well, they have the means of ruining you and they are going to use them. Didn't you hear that woman? On the other hand they are really keen on that formula, you can sell it for a very good price, make them accept your conditions if you are clever with the negotiations."

"I'll lose my independence."

"You'll lose that anyway if you marry me."

He smiled wryly, still not convinced.

Alexandra took his arm.

"Severus, this is not about personal feelings, these people are unscrupulous, they mean business. Do you want to go to prison again?"

He didn't answer, only closed his eyes.

"Don't be stupid. Take their money, make the best of the deal."

"You are so insufferably pragmatic!"

"Well, you asked me for advice, didn't you?"

When he still curled his lip disdainfully, she continued.

"By coming to France you wanted to make a new start and you've managed quite well so far. But do you always want to hide, do you want to work in secrecy and on the edge of legality for the rest of your life? If you accept their offer you have nothing to fear from the authorities, you can make a fortune if you co-operate with them. Money doesn't make you happy, but it helps you to lead a comfortable life. And what may even be more important for you is that you certainly can make a name for yourself in the world of potion-making by associating with this potions giant, build up a reputation that can be of advantage for your future – our future," she added shyly."

He stared straight ahead, saying nothing. Alexandra looked at her watch and sighed.

"The hour is almost over."

He nodded gravely and at long last turned to look at her.

"If I accept - will you help me see it through?"

She exhaled with relief.

"Yes, of course. After all I'm your future wife."

When they returned to the restaurant, the table in the corner was the only one still occupied.

The restaurant staff were already busy preparing the tables for the next day. As Alexandra and Severus approached the waiting party, four faces were watching them eagerly and couldn't quite hide their apprehension.

Severus offered Alexandra a chair and then sat down himself, slowly and without deigning a look at the others. He blatantly enjoyed the effect of suspense he created. After some interminable seconds he raised his head and looked around the table with a noncommittal, neutral stare.

Dribblebanks practically squirmed in his chair, Madame Millefoux fingered her necklace, Jenni was drumming an impatient tattoo on the tablecloth and even Malfoy was running a finger around the inside of his collar as if it suddenly had become too tight. Finally Jenni couldn't stand it any longer.

"Well, Mr Snape?"

Severus answered with a raised eyebrow and allowed some more seconds to pass.

Then he leaned back and crossed his legs.

"I accept your offer."

Alexandra could see anxiety give way to relief on the four faces turned towards Severus.

"Splendid, Mr Snape, absolutely splendid!" Douglas Dribblebanks beamed around the table.

"Then we're all going to meet at the notary in Paris on Monday to discuss the conditions. Three o'clock, this is the address."

He handed Severus a small roll of parchment.

"And now I think some celebration is in order. Champagne, Mr Snape? Ms Moody?"

"No, thank you." Severus got up abruptly.

"It's been a long day, I'd like to go home. Just one question."

He smiled and added conversationally, "Lucius, just how did you get out of prison?"

Dribblebanks blushed slightly and started fingering his moustache. Madame Millefoux stared at Lucius, eyes wide in shock, Jenni looked from Malfoy to Severus and back again, his mouth hanging open. Obviously these two had been ignorant about Lucius' stay in Azkaban.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but with an effort he managed to keep the arrogant expression in place when he answered.

"My solicitor pointed out several procedural errors in my trial. He can be very convincing. That and my offer to help the Ministry find you made them release me."

Severus smiled bitterly and nodded to himself.

"How did you know about my whereabouts?"

"Oh, you told me about your cottage in France yourself."

"I? Never."

Malfoy chuckled. "Oh, yes. It was the night Sirius Black escaped from Hogwarts, you were beside yourself with fury and came to Malfoy Manor to give vent to your anger. You may not remember the occasion as for once you got roaring drunk and kept telling me that you would chuck up your job at Hogwarts, where you had been treated so unfairly, that you would leave England for good and make a new start in France."

A painful expression crossed Severus' face. For several moments nobody moved or spoke. Then Severus roused himself from his thoughts.

"Well, Alexandra, shall we go now?"

She agreed, eager to be gone from the presence of these people.

It was already well past midnight when they stepped out on the street and went downhill to reach an apparition point, their steps echoing between the silent houses. Most windows were dark, the village was asleep. When they reached the last flight of steps leading down to the shore of the lake, Severus stopped short.

"It's all my fault. Roaring drunk indeed! If I had not allowed old childhood enmities to have such an impact on my adult behaviour, I would not have lost control that night and they would still be looking for me in vain. I fear that I have just given up the control of my life. Everything is going to change completely," he shouted angrily.

"For me as well," she remarked softly, "it's the start of a new life, Severus, stop being angry with yourself. Take it as a new beginning, a new chance."

He breathed hard, staring over the dark water, saying nothing. The only sound were the waves lapping against the shore, the soft gurgling of the water between the boats tied to some wooden poles.

Finally he sighed.

"Perhaps you're right," he said slowly, "the start of a new life - our life together."

His eyes returned to her, in the orange light of the streetlamp they were not unfathomable, they reflected the wonder and love that had sounded in his voice.

"Our life together," he repeated and pulled her in his arms. A soft _plop_ and the place where they had stood was empty.

The End

_Phew! I've really done it! I've managed to finish the story before the release of HP 7. _

_Thank you for staying with me, for your patience and your feedback.  
_

_Once again thanks to J.K.Rowling for creating these wonderful characters._


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